


Takes Its Toll

by Ayes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Arya Is Dead Sorry, Bronn/Margaery Tyrell - Freeform, Canon What Canon, Confident Sandor, Diners, Drama, Everyone’s A Bookworm, Fluff, Grey Worm Is A DJ, Hurt/Comfort, I Swear This Used To Have 12k+ Hits, I Swear This Used To Have 500+ Comments, I Swear This Used To Have 500+ Kudos, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Jon Is Okay Though, Minor Daenerys Targaryen/Missandei, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, Minor Ned Stark/Ros, Most Starks Are Dead, Ned Stark Lives, POV Sansa Stark, Past Abuse, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrected Fic, Romance, Slow Burn, Student Sansa, Therapy, Veteran Sandor, cute dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 54,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: A rootless woman meets a fearless man. Or, how a woman puts down roots and a man finally gains something he's afraid to lose.Less serious summary: Sansa works in a tollbooth. Romance with a side of DRAMA, mama. Lots of complex emotions and human beings making mistakes.NOTE: This piece was up before, but some people didn't get to finish reading it. I kind of regret deleting it, as it was very popular and I am very proud of it! Ultimately, I learned a lot from converting it into an original novel, but Amazon wasn't where it belonged. It belongs with you, my fellow Sansan fans. I love you all!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1252977635/playlist/3xAWNhznJahATHDEliH8t4)   
>  [MY TUMBLR!! COME TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS FIC!!!](https://sayesayes.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Cover](https://i.imgur.com/MWshT1f.jpg)  
> [Picset](https://m.imgur.com/qAU4u2U)  
> [Sandor's House](https://odis.homeaway.com/odis/listing/08a35ede-517a-4318-9123-71fc2f81b403.c10.jpg)  
> 

"Six dollars is your change, Sir, have a nice d- okay, bye."

Sansa shook her head and stuck her hand out of the window for the next car's toll. Wishing people a good day was part of her job, but most people just treated her like a vending machine. Even though hundreds of people came by her tollbooth each day, it was awfully lonely when most of them sped right by her.

"You're good to go, ma'am, enjoy your day," she told the next customer, screwing a smile onto her face. The business-suited woman driving just rolled her eyes and hit the gas.

Sansa knew she barely registered to most of the commuters who passed her booth each day. She was just the annoying barrier to the bridge into town, an inconvenient human hired because the city was too small and cheap to install automation. Most days she didn't mind - the bridge didn't get awfully busy apart from rush hour, and she'd only taken the job because it was the perfect way to make money while doing her schoolwork. At 24, she felt a little old to still be working on her bachelor's, but college was expensive and she'd been working her way through a few classes per semester. So far she'd worked at an ice cream shop, a mall day care, and an office that had her entering data into spreadsheets all day. They were the kinds of openings that popped up every fall when high school students dropped their summer jobs, and she'd managed to pour almost every dollar into her education. With one semester left, she hoped this was her last dead-end gig.

Sansa had been on her own since she was 16, when her mother and siblings had died suddenly in a car accident. Her dad hadn't been able to handle it, retreating into drink and women who Sansa would have hated even if they weren't attempting to replace her mother far too soon. It was too hard watching such a good man crumble while she was still trying to finish high school, so after six months of trying to mourn amidst barflies and beer bottles, she'd gone to live with an aunt. Aunt Lysa cared only about her own child, a fussy, sickly boy, but out of obligation to her deceased sister she had allowed Sansa to live in the spare room until she was 18, and made a plate for her at each dinner. It was more than she'd had to do, and Sansa was grateful, but she'd never truly felt at home there.

Now, Sansa rented a room in an apartment with three other girls, all of them attempting to keep their costs down as they finished school. This made Sansa the oldest except for one grad student, Margaery, and the other girls had grants and family support that set her apart even from them.

Work and school had been her life for years now, and while her roommates were sweet girls, Sansa was often too busy or tired to accept their invitations. Only Margaery would occasionally insist they split a bottle of $6 wine and watch a movie together. This suited Sansa far more than paying $6 for a cocktail when her roommates were going out, and especially more than accepting free drinks from men. Her roommates always seemed to have a nice time, but the one or two times Sansa had tried to join them, the expectations of loud, drunk men had only reminded her of her fallen father.

She had tried dating at first, freshly on her own and desperate for some human affection. She'd let her first roommate Jeyne set her up with someone, and spent two disastrous years trying to escape him afterward.

Her ex-boyfriend, Joffrey, had tried to control her, and she'd been so desperate for someone to take an interest in her life she'd very nearly rearranged it all for him. When he mocked her jobs she laughed along, when he picked out her clothes she put them on, and when he called her pathetic she privately agreed. He had even shoved her, hit her, and she had blamed herself, accepting his excuses. Only when he'd told her she'd never finish school and may as well drop out to start catering to him full time had she had the clarity to escape. School had been the one thing her mom had always insisted on, and it was Sansa's mission to complete it. Not even Joffrey would stand in her way.

The last couple of years that he'd been gone from her life were peaceful. She'd finally accepted being alone, and was mostly happy. Ironically her biggest worry these days was how close she actually was now to completing her degree. After years of single-minded dedication, Sansa was afraid of a wide open future.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa shut her eyes and fought the urge to scream in frustration. She had always been one to mind her manners, first because of her upbringing and then out of a desire not to draw any negative attention toward herself. It was only habit that kept her from acting unladylike now. Today was just one of those days where absolutely nothing had gone right.

First, Margaery had stumbled in from a party at 3AM, turning on the light in the bathroom between their rooms and waking Sansa by accident. Sansa hadn't slept well since the day her family had been all but wiped out, her nightmares less frequent now but her rest still uneasy.

She'd found it impossible to sleep after the interruption, and when she'd given up and scrolled through her phone, she'd clicked on one too many puppy videos and found herself near tears over clips of adoptable senior dogs. Then the coffee machine at school was broken in the morning, and a knot of anxiety had formed in her stomach from splurging on a latte down the street. Or maybe she was just lactose intolerant now. It was that kind of day.

So at work, when she'd screwed on her brightest smile and greeted her first customer with as much warmth and civility as she could only to be ignored again, Sansa just gave up.

She could feel her eyes burn as though on the verge of tears. Sansa hated crying in public, because her red hair brought out the redness in her eyes, making it impossible to hide. Luckily, the road was pretty quiet this evening, and she had a few minutes to put herself together.

Sansa glanced down the road at its empty lanes, then drew her notebook open. She was having trouble with her latest essay. It was on epic poetry, which were usually a favorite topic of hers, but the wars of the Homeric poems just didn't appeal to her. 

She wasn't quite sure what she'd do with her English Lit degree once she acquired it, but she'd always found peace in deep readings and great enjoyment in literary conversation. She hated not putting her all into an assignment, which was why she was so frustrated with this one.

A distant roaring, growing closer, alerted her to an approaching customer. Sansa sighed and steeled herself, reaching a hand out of the small window without fully turning to face the newcomer. She couldn't face another rude interaction, and so she kept her eyes on her copy of The Iliad, already willing the exchange to be over.

The rip and rev beside her alerted Sansa dimly to the fact that it was a motorcycle, and her eyes flicked briefly to the window to ensure its rider could reach her hand.

"Good morning, miss," the man on the motorcycle said. Instantly she was horrified at herself, her cheeks burning at being the rude one this time. The horror must have shown in her expression for an instant, because just as she registered the man's face, he shifted his body weight and rolled past, the bike picking up speed immediately as he disappeared over the bridge behind her.

In his wake, Sansa stood stock still for a moment, registering what happened.

Scars. His face - it had been half covered in scars, silver ribbons wrapping over even his eye and into his hairline. And oh no, she'd looked at him totally aghast. No wonder he hadn't waited for her answer.

Chagrined, she finally noticed the twenty in her hand. He'd left without waiting for his change. Sansa groaned aloud this time, pushing her books up on the table and counting out the right change. She tucked the bills under the cash tray, vowing to return them the next time he came through. It was the least she could do - and she'd just have to apologize. She'd acted horribly!

Sansa paused and bit her lip, looking over her shoulder even though he was long gone by now. What had he even looked like, beside the scars? Would she get the chance to recognize him if he came through again?

She remembered a voice like grated honeycomb, and vaguely recalled him being large. His shoulders had been wider than her window, and his body leaning up toward her had blocked out the surrounding concrete dividers. She'd mostly noticed the scars, admittedly, but now that she thought about it she remembered a steely set of grey eyes.

When those eyes came back her way, she'd be ready.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day Sansa worked the early shift, so she wasn't expecting to have a chance to apologize yet. It took her by surprise when the motorcycle was hidden behind a pickup truck first thing in the morning.

When the broad man was revealed, she took a quick look at him. He was scarred as ever, but she was right, his eyes were a foggy grey. His build made her think of the rugby players Margaery obsessed about, his muscular legs overlarge as they braced him against the ground.

Had she been staring? She hoped not. "Hello!" she said instead, determined to make up for her past error. "I hope you're having a good morning. I have your change from yesterday, sir."

"I'm no sir," he rumbled, the hand he cupped underneath hers for the proffered bills huge in comparison.

Sansa couldn't help it: she laughed. "Me either."

The man seemed too surprised at her joke to laugh with her. His eyebrows were raised, two thickly-furred arcs, but he remained silent. Understandable, considering how yesterday she'd given him cause to assume she found him terrifying. Knowing they only had a few more seconds together, Sansa racked her brains as she printed a receipt.

"Here you are... Mr. Not-A-Sir," she chirped, smiling into his face, determined not to focus on his scars. His eyes swept hers, and she was startled at how deeply his gaze penetrated hers for a fraction of an instant.

After a moment, he smiled, and Sansa blinked in surprise. His smile was like the first beam of light after a rainstorm, subtle but blinding.

"I'm sorry about-" she started suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at the growing line of cars behind him.

"Don't worry about it," he huffed, a shift in body weight indicating that he was ready to ride on. Sansa wished they had more time, time to explain herself, but she gave him her brightest smile anyway - for the road.

This time when he rode away, she was left in a much better mood. More hopeful. Maybe she hadn't completely redeemed herself, but now she didn't have to feel so bad.

Sansa would have expected that to be it, the end of her thoughts about him. She certainly had enough brief encounters with strangers that it shouldn't have been worth dwelling on. She felt a little guilty still, but a sense of happiness overwhelmed the lingering bad. He'd smiled, and it had felt like real forgiveness. For some reason she found herself wondering what the guy's story was, how he got his scars, what brought him to the bridge out of nowhere and at unpredictable times.

After a few hours of dispensing change while her mind wandered, she realized that her mind was still on the mystery man. On, underneath... Sansa caught the reflection of her blush in the window. She hadn't had much of a sex life over the years, much less a satisfying one. She'd always vaguely thought she'd find the right husband and enjoy a satisfying bedroom life with him, and hadn't dwelled on it much further. It was surprising to find herself fantasizing about those enormous hands, what his bristly face would feel like against her lips. Maybe it didn't come with learning to trust a man again, or love, but she was actually kind of happy to know her natural instincts weren't completely gone. Maybe they'd just been hibernating while she healed.

 _Thanks, sexy stranger_ , Sansa thought to herself with a giggle. Sure, the target of her newfound attraction was unexpected, and she knew nothing would come of a silly daydream, but the feeling still made her smile.

Maybe she wasn't broken after Joffrey after all.

It was the ringing of her phone that snapped her out of her daydreams. Her phone showed a selfie with Margaery, Mar's skin on display as always. Sansa rolled her eyes at the pouty-faced photo and picked up. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey girl, your brother's here!"

 _My brother?_ Sansa's mood dropped immediately, her stomach straining. She'd had three brothers. Now she had none. Even the word cut her deeply, slicing down to the pit that she'd carried inside since the accident. "What?" she managed to whisper, impossible visions of Rickon's gap-toothed smile, Robb's handsome jaw, Bran's old-soul eyes all sliding past another in her mind's eye.

"Oh hon, I'm so sorry," Margaery replied instantly, sounding stricken. All the humor had bled away from her normally bright and lilting voice. "I mean Jon. Your- well, I didn't know what to call him. Your cousin? Your brother-cousin. I'm so sorry, Sansa."

"Jon's at the apartment?" Sansa's brain took a second to catch her up, so far had she fallen mentally. "Wait, did you call him my cousin-brother?"

"Brother-cousin." Sansa could sense Margaery smiling a little. "It does sound weird, doesn't it? Anyway, he's here and he's cute. Can I have him?"

"No and ew. Can you tell him to meet me at the Starlite?"

"Sure thing, babe. Sorry again."

"It's fine." Sansa forced herself to sound reassuring. "I'll be off in a half hour, I'll see him there."

Weird day, Sansa thought to herself. But she was excited to see Jon. And a burger at the Starlite would be the cherry on top of some time with her beloved brother-cousin.


	4. Chapter 4

The Starlite Diner was Westeros County's oldest operating business, and it showed. Perched on the industrial waterfront under the bridge Sansa worked on, it glowed at night with magical neon hues, and by day looked like it should have been boarded up years ago. Now, on the cusp of dark, it was beginning its nightly transformation into something beautiful, the bridge shifting into a dark silhouette against the dimming sky. 

Sansa took a deep breath of the fresh air, which held tinges of oil and rotting algae, but nevertheless helped clear her head to meet Jon.

Jon worked in the deep north, where he lived on a research base. His stories always contained adventure, wilderness, and a fierce pride in the work he was doing. She was happy for him: adopted from another aunt who had chosen drugs over parenting, Jon had grown up feeling a little out of place in the Stark family. It shamed her a little, but Sansa hadn't been his closest confidante as a child, either. She was glad to have him now, glad he'd been safe in college during the accident and its aftermath, and most of all glad that he'd found his place. They were the only siblings each other had now, and their relationship had become much more special as each of them grew into adulthood.

Walking into the diner, Jon was easy to spot. He had a huge black coat thrown over the back of a booth, one that looked like it was half dead thing and much more suited to the weather up north. Underneath it, Jon wore a black Henley and black jeans.

"Heard of color?" she joked. Sansa, as usual, was dressed in a lighter palette that complemented her peaches and cream coloring. She was dressed for work in a white cable knit sweater, light wash jeans, and brown suede boots that she'd found on sale last year. Jon smiled, standing up to wrap her in a hug immediately.

Sansa buried her face in Jon's wild hair. Her emotions were just too close to the surface. She didn't see Jon nearly enough to be used to dealing with all the feelings that sprang up when he came to town. His work took him far away, but she suspected that a part of what appealed to him about the north was its distance from those same feelings. 

They sat down eventually, grasping each other's hands across the slightly sticky Formica tabletop. Now Sansa couldn't stop smiling. "You look so grown up!"

"Old, you mean? You look great though. You look healthy, does that mean you've been taking care of yourself and doing okay? How's school?"

Sansa laughed. "What are you, Mom?"

Jon twisted his mouth but smiled back. He and Catelyn hadn't had the strongest relationship, but Sansa did suspect he adopted his worrying side from her anyway.

They caught up over chili cheese burgers, gloppy, messy things that nearly ruined Sansa's sweater but tasted incredible. Jon kept stealing her shoestring fries, telling her about the wolf pack he was going to start studying and life with his fellow researchers. Sansa had met his best friend Sam, a doctorate student whose passion for natural biology was the only person she'd known to exceed Jon's, but a lot of that life was mysterious to her.

"It sounds kinda isolated, honestly, don't you hate that?" Sansa rolled her eyes when he reached for her fries again, but let him. It was fun getting to let go of her usual poise. She rarely got a chance to slip out of that mode, between working in customer service, wringing every dollar out of her education, and maintaining a pleasant roommate situation. It was the way she had managed to carry herself so far alone, but she missed the ability to be goofy that had come with being surrounded by siblings.

Jon seemed thoughtful at her question. "It can feel that way sometimes," he finally answered. "But then your friendships are much stronger. We're a brotherhood. Well, a brotherhood with women."

"Women? Any one woman?" Sansa had never really known Jon to do more than pine over girls, although he'd been oblivious his whole life to those pining over him. When Jon's face changed, she nearly crowed with glee. "There is a girl!"

"There's - I have a colleague who I... enjoy... debating with."

"You love her!"

"I... I don't know if I should ask her out, there really isn't anywhere to go on a date and if she declined it might be pretty awkward for both of us..." Jon shrugged at her sheepishly. 

"Doesn't sound like my brave big brother," she teased.

"Speaking of being brave," he said gently, instead. Sansa groaned. Eventually it always came back to the things they didn't really want to talk about. Jon was always so stoic about facing them. She admired it, but it could definitely be annoying.

"No, come on, can't we get to dessert first? You're that eager not to talk about your lady?"

"Well, not unless you want to tell me about your love life?"

Outside, a motorcycle growled by. Sansa found herself blushing, and was mad at herself. She didn't have a love life! One intimidating, handsome stranger goes through her booth and she was blushing at street noise and innocent questions? Jon took it as a hint, though, and plowed forward.

"Dad... Ned met someone. He seems to be serious about her. Want to have dinner with them while I'm in town?"

Sansa hesitated. Eddard Stark only lived an hour away, but it usually felt like forever. They spoke on the phone every so often, and tried to have dinner together around birthdays and the holidays. These visits vacillated wildly between healing and horribly depressing - Jon had missed last year, and she'd suffered alone through her Dad and Aunt's forced camaraderie, her cousin Robert's cringeworthy social deficiencies. Her sister Arya had always done something to take Robert down a peg, earning Aunt Lysa's displeasure at every gathering. Without Arya, it just wasn't the same.

Without everyone, it wasn't the same. And dinners at her dad's house alone were similar: too many people were missing from the table. He'd moved into a condo a few years ago, and it was unfamiliar and too often filled with a fragrant fug of northern whiskey.

"A serious girlfriend? I don't know..." She didn't want to meet anyone who took any part of her mom's place, even just the place at Ned's side. But... "of course I'll go, I just. It's hard."

"Yeah." Jon reached his hand out again, and Sansa took it. Both of them ignored the burger grease. "Look, I know. I wished a lot of things about my parents too. But Ned's all we have left."

Sansa squeezed Jon's hand hard before letting go. "Okay, fine. Want to come over?"

When they got back to Sansa's apartment, she could hear noise spilling out into the hall before they even made it in the door. "Sounds like everyone's home," she warned, throwing open the door.

The front door opened into a carpeted living room, where Sansa's three roommates were currently screeching with laughter. Margaery was holding a box over her head, laughing as their shortest roommate Dany tried to reach it. Dany's girlfriend Missandei was tall enough to grab it, but she seemed to be laughing too hard to help. Margaery and Missandei looked over when Sansa and Jon came in, Margaery lowering her arms enough that Dany was able to snatch the box and dance away.

"Ha!" Dany crowed, clutching the package to her chest. "Got it, you thorny bitch." She turned, a triumphant grin still on her face, and spotted the newcomers. "Holy shit!"

Sansa was about to apologize for her friend - Dany was a fiery little thing, a pre-law student and competitive horseback rider whose dogged nature helped motivate her to keep striving toward justice. It didn't always make her the easiest person, though, as she didn't really have an off button.

She was spared having to apologize when Jon reacted equally. Equally for Jon, that was. "Oh my gods!" he responded, hurrying forward to meet Dany in a crushing hug. 

"Wait, what?" Sansa was totally confused. She didn't know they knew each other, or how they could know each other in the first place.

Missandei unfolded gracefully from the couch, plucked the forgotten box from the floor, and padded toward Sansa on slippered feet. She was a willowy beauty, a linguistics student who was somehow the perfect balance to her firecracker of a girlfriend. "Dany's his aunt," she explained in a low voice, watching the two talk over each other, Margaery blatantly listening in. "They found each other on Facebook a few years ago but hadn't gotten to meet in person yet. You didn't know?"

"No, I knew he found some random family a few years ago, but I must not have paid any attention." Sansa felt vaguely guilty, like she should have known. But then again, she and Jon often went out of their way to avoid talking about missing family members. "Wait - does that mean Dany and I are related?"

"Maybe!" Dany called, having detangled herself from Jon. "The way I hear it my brother got around. I might even be your aunt, too."

"Will you be my aunt, Dany?" Margaery asked, giggling. Everyone laughed with her.

"All my little babies," Dany joked. They all laughed again - Dany was by far the most diminutive person in the room. 

"I didn't realize I was dating such an older woman," Missandei teased. "It's okay, I love you, wrinkles and all."

"Nothing wrong with dating someone a little older," Sansa agreed. Margaery gave her a suspicious look, which she avoided. She was a little embarrassed to have spoken up, because of course she was wondering how old her scarred stranger was. She was pathetic. It wasn't like she'd end up dating that guy. Or any guy, the way things were going for her these last few years.

"So what's in that box, anyway?" Jon asked. He still had an arm around Dany, the difference in their height and coloring so different that Sansa still found it hard to believe they were related.

"Oh, it's just clothes. Margie here thinks she has first dibs on every piece of fast fashion that comes through the apartment." 

"I just look better in everything," Margaery agreed.

Dany made an "ugh" sound, but she was smiling. "Oh, Sansa, our tickets came today, too."

"Great!" Sansa wasn't exactly looking forward to a night out on the town, but Missandei was friends with popular DJ Greyw0rm, and he'd invited all of her friends. It was rare that they all managed to hang out away from the sofa, what with their school schedules, but this was going to be the biggest event of the year. "Oh, Jon, when do you leave town? Want to go see Greyw0rm with us? Andei can get you a ticket."

Jon, it turned out, wanted to go. "My uh - a friend I have... she's really into his stuff, so I'd like to check him out. Plus it would be fun to have a drink with my sister." 

"And your aunt!" Dany reminded him. "Show some respect, young man." 

They'd decided to meet up over the weekend, which was luckily right before Jon had to return to his research assignment. And before then, they'd have dinner with Ned. 

And his new girlfriend.

Sansa hated being so polite sometimes, but she was never really going to refuse Ned and Jon both. They were really all she had.

_Except..._ she found herself thinking, with amusement, _I do have a new cousin-aunt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing? Having a hard week? A happy one? I wanna hear about it!


	5. Chapter 5

_ Joffrey loomed over her, his eyes hard with rage.  _

_ "You stupid bitch, I told you to be at Crakehall at 7, and were you?" _

_ "Joff, baby," Sansa heard herself pleading, her voice unfamiliar with panic. "I have a class at 6, I told you that. It's midterm week, I told you I couldn't skip it." _

_ "You stood me up on purpose," he continued, as though she hadn't spoken, "You humiliated me just to be a cunt. You're so selfish. Roland asked where you were, you know. I had to make something up!" _

_ "You knew where I was, Joff, please," she whispered. He didn't acknowledge her: this was always part of it, his denying her voice until she couldn't be sure she was really speaking. She'd thought she'd done well on the midterm, too. She'd been excited to tell him. _

_ "If you aren't dolled up on my arm at shit like this, what's the fucking point of keeping you around? Keeping you in pretty clothes? Gods know you're no good for anything else. I've had better blowjobs from my secretary. Honestly, you should have been in that car accident! Go be with your stupid family, since you're so worthless." _

_ Tears were streaming down Sansa's face but she didn't remember starting to cry. Joff always got like this when he was upset, said things she told herself he didn't mean. His family business, Lannister Imports, was a multi-billion dollar importer, and she knew a lot was expected of him in terms of showing up and looking good. She knew it made him frustrated. And this time it felt like her fault. Guilt and panic weighed her down, hurt her heart. Sansa tried to reach out to him, but he shoved her arm away angrily. She curled in on herself further, waiting for his rage to die away. _

_ Some nights he would rant about his mother, his uncles, the idiocy of vendors and business partners. She suspected his job was mostly decorative, but it seemed to stress him out, and on these nights she'd listen to his anger until it burnt out. Then he'd apologize, touch her hair, and order some ludicrously expensive meal to be picked up by his driver so they could eat in bed. Sometimes he'd take his anger out there, too, moving her through positions that cramped her legs as they made love. Sansa was always happy to try to soothe him, but that rage inside him sometimes left him incautious to her bruising.  _

_ Tonight didn't seem like one he would work out his anger. He was still raving, pacing, not even looking at Sansa as he spilled his ugly thoughts. She took advantage of his distraction to force herself to stop crying. It wouldn't do to give him something else to be upset about. If he noticed her tears it would only get worse. If he noticed her tears-  _

Sansa woke suddenly, covered in a film of sweat. She was too busy most days for thoughts of Joffrey to bother her anymore, but she wasn't always so lucky. The memories still found her sometimes, slipping through the cracks in her unconsciousness.

Being awake in the middle of the night never led to good thoughts for Sansa, so she quietly made herself some lemon tea and dug out her copy of Jane Eyre. Imagining herself into her books had always been a reliable source of comfort for her, and she sank into the familiar pages with relief.

It didn't work, though. She could hear soft television sounds from Andei and Dany's room, like the couple was having a late-night Netflix marathon. If they'd been in the living room she would have joined them. As it was, the low hum of dialogue too faint for understanding just reminded her of how empty her bed was now. After Joffrey, she'd felt too unclean to try dating again. Boys in her classes tried to catch her eye now and then, and some were indeed very nice and dateable, but she just hadn't been ready to even consider it. And a purely physical relationship wasn't something she could ever imagine for herself.

Although she missed that feeling of closeness.

Sansa curled up in bed, imagining herself into broad, warm arms. In her imagination, the man holding her would never speak to her like Joffrey had. In her imagination, she felt totally safe. Seen. Loved.

It was those warm, happy feelings that sank her back into sleep.

_ Sansa was writhing, moving, her hips bucking up even as her shoulders pressed down hard into the mattress. _

_ There were enormous hands on her hips now, pushing them firmly back down, long blunt fingers wrapping nearly all the way around her body. A hard mouth was pressed against her; soft lips, insistent tongue. It was into this mouth she was moving, her breath coming in stutter-starts like she couldn't breathe the air. _

_ It didn't stop her from making noise, though, embarrassing cries that she'd surely never made before. A voice hummed in response, the vibrations moving against her heated skin to delicious effect. There was more friction, too. Stubble? A beard? Only when she shattered against it and was drawn once again into those warming arms, boneless, did she feel them. She was cradled against someone, the cheek of a face she couldn't see resting against against her forehead. When she tipped her head into his embrace, she could feel them on his cheek.  _

_ Scars. _

The next day Sansa found him at her booth again. This time he had exact change, and smiled at her first, as though privately amused by her somehow. 

He should be. Sansa was refusing to think about her dreams from last night. Both of them. She was determined not to let anything show, though. 

"Hello again! How are you doing today?" He'd come at an odd time this time around, it being the middle of the day, and the road behind him was clear until the horizon line. It stretched for a mile past waterfront warehouses before approaching the city center. But behind him it looked like a cinematic backdrop, the way he held himself like an action star.

"Better now, little bird," he rasped.

"Little bird?" She laughed a little before processing the rest of what he'd said.  _ Was he flirting? _

"Aye, you chirp like one. A pretty little bird perched in the road." He rubbed his hand over his chin. She could see he'd surprised himself by speaking.  _ And he was definitely flirting. _

"Thank you," she all but whispered, suddenly wondering if he could read her mind. Her face felt like it was burning. "It's Sansa, actually."

"Sandor." They watched each other a moment longer. Sansa meant to ask him about his destination, the weather, any other customer service fallback that she could normally reel through without even paying attention. But the words didn't come.

"Sandor," she repeated at last, committing it to memory. 

"Sansa," he grinned back at her. She liked how her name sounded, underlaid with his timbre. 

Another car was coming. Sansa flicked her eyes up as she caught its movement, and Sandor turned to look, too. The movement threw the undamaged side of his face into perfect clarity, and this angle nearly made her gasp aloud.

He gave her a wave and took off, and she had to deal with a short burst of lunch traffic before reflecting on it further. The unblemished side of his face had been... just perfect. For those first time she realized the true extent of the damage from his scars. Without them he was utterly, devastatingly handsome.

With them he wasn't so bad, either, though. 

So she went back to daydreaming, back to the cheek on her forehead and the big, strong arms. And this time she could imagine his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone is having a good week and being kind to themselves. feel free to ask me anything!


	6. Chapter 6

Ned’s condo was on the north side of the city, perched in the hills that surrounded the sprawling Westeros terrain. Sansa and Jon drove together, Sansa nervously changing the radio over and over again as Jon calmly handled the winding roads. He looked like he was in a car commercial: handsome, quiet, dressed in black. Sansa felt fried. Her makeup had worn off after a day at school but there hadn’t been time to do much to save it. It already had her feeling like she was starting off in a defensive mode, although she didn’t know why she felt defensive. Nerves, probably.

The Stark family had once had a lot of money. The kind of cash that makes five kids seem like a good idea, and that made adopting Jon a no-brainer instead of a financial hardship. Winterfell Estate, the home Sansa had grown up in, was situated on acres of Stark land. She’d had horseback riding lessons, a sewing instructor, dance classes, and whatever pretty dresses she took a fancy to. Her parents had never spoiled her outright, instead rewarding all their children for their behavior and successes in school, but it had been comfortable. More than.

But five funerals were expensive. Even after the insurance, there was the loss of her mom’s income as a consultant. There was the loss of Rob as Ned’s right hand man. There was Ned’s leave of absence, a kind phrase for being forced temporarily out by his partners when his grief and drinking had taken over. For Ned’s best friend and business partner Robert Baratheon to take issue with someone’s drinking really said it all. Ned had refused to allow that leave to be paid, out of a combination of pride and shame, and he hadn’t gone back to work in any major capacity in all that time. He’d tried and failed once, and the failure had cut him deeply. Ned just hadn’t been ready, hadn’t been healed. Hadn’t been sober.

He’d had to sell Winterfell, and seeing him cry for the first time since the accident had ripped Sansa apart. She hadn’t wanted to keep the home, not really; it was too empty now, too huge and sad for her. And the wealth wasn’t what she missed. But it had been home, and they both mourned it. Now Ned was living a comfortable, downgraded life in a two-bedroom condo. His office took up one room, with photos on every wall of the family. His bedroom was the other, a spacious living room looked over the hills, and his kitchen offered every sleek and modern accessory one could want. It always seemed empty, though, and Sansa had come over more than once only to find herself recycling bottles and restocking the fridge with something other than Braavosi stout.

When the door opened to Jon and Sansa this time, the place looked completely different. It looked bright and cozy, everything clean and tidied away. A dish towel had appeared on the stove, and real home-cooked food on the counter. There was a blanket tossed over the couch, a new painting on the wall. A n unfamiliar coat rack, Ned’s anorak and a fuzzy faux fur swing coat on top of it. But that wasn’t what caught her attention.

Ned Stark stood at the door, a welcoming smile on his face. And his face looked so different. Gone was the gaunt, haunted look that had infected his handsome features for the last few years. He looked healthier, stronger, fuller-cheeked. He filled out his soft checkered shirt again, his hair was clean, and for a moment Sansa was looking up at her Daddy like she was six years old again.

They hugged hard, Sansa feeling tears pricking at her eyes already. “Dad, you look wonderful!”

“Thanks, kitten.” Ned squeezed her, and at the old nickname, Sansa did blink away a tear. Her mom Catelyn had always gone by Cat, and Sansa had been her twin from birth. Ned’s nickname for her had led to more than one kitty-cat Halloween costume over her childhood.

Jon was next to hug Ned, and Sansa was left looking at the other person who had answered the door. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you -”

“Ros,” the woman said, smiling warmly. She was a buxom, beautiful woman, sun-tanned and warm-toned. Freckles spattered her face and grey and auburn curls spiralled out from a bun behind her head. She must have been younger than Ned, but she wasn’t close to Sansa’s age either, which Sansa was privately relieved by. “Please, come in!” 

The four chatted as they moved inside. Conversation was light and surprisingly easy - Jon had apparently kept Ned up to date on his research, and Ned had a lot of specific questions that Jon was happy to go into detail about. Ros was naturally gifted as a hostess, it turned out, as she was able to join in Jon and Ned’s back-and-forth without effort between asking Sansa about school, all while setting out the elements for a rich wood board full of charcuterie. She’d pre-sliced the salami and placed Dornish olives into a rustic ramekin, and was delighted by Sansa’s questions about the various cheeses. It turned out she had a wicked sense of humor and a deep roster of stories. Jon, though polite, was clearly shocked to find out she taught burlesque classes downtown. Sansa found herself secretly impressed.

Sansa had brought a bottle of wine, but Ned waved away a glass when they opened it in the kitchen. It was a first that delighted her. As they sat and tucked into a meal of Ned-cooked steaks with sides of rosemary potatoes and bacon-wrapped green bean bundles that Ros had made, the discussion began to feel more comfortable. It was downright familial, Ros included. It should have made Sansa happy - and she was happy - but it was hard, too. She excused herself to the restroom after her first glass of wine, taking a few deep breaths over the sink. Everything was great. It just wasn’t the same.

Jon pulled his phone out at one point, scrolling through photos of the wolf pack he was going to be following. “I’ll be tracking a lot, which is really exciting,” he said, unusually animated. “My friend and I will be looking for a white wolf who’s been able to range exceptionally far. I believe it’s due to his perfect snow camouflage. He’s almost like a ghost.”

Sansa took his phone, zooming in on the wolf’s wild red eyes. She loved wolves and was almost as excited as Jon was. She told him so as she scrolled, falling in love with each wolf as she saw them. Despite her nickname from Ned, she was a definite dog person. One more swipe, and she found herself looking at a selfie taken on Jon’s phone - him and a fire-haired girl, her clearly taking the photo by the look on Jon’s flustered face. “Who’s this?”

“Give me that.” Jon plucked the phone out of her hands, blushing furiously. Sansa and Ned proceeded to tease him together - but not too much.

“I think it sounds lovely,” Ros added lightly. “Having someone special up there in the snow.”

Sansa smiled with her. “It does.” Maybe both Ned and Jon would find love. That would bring Sansa true joy. It seemed like Ned had, despite her reservations, and now it seemed as though Jon would as well. 

She fought down the jealousy that rose at the thought. She managed it, but it wasn’t as easy as she would have liked.

After dinner, Jon and Ros volunteered to clean up, while Ned invited Sansa onto the patio for a cigar. She’d insisted he include her once as he’d smoked with Rob and Jon, and she had quickly become his favorite smoking companion. She and her brothers had discovered that it lead to the best talks with their father, something about how it cleared his mind and loosened his words. She mourned for Rickon and Bran, both gone too young to have that one-on-one time with Ned in a cloud of smoke.

“I like her, Dad,” she said once he’d puffed a few times and sat back.

“I’m glad.” Ned fixed her with a long look, and Sansa smiled calmly back so he could see she meant it. He reached over and squeezed her arm. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore, sweetheart. I’m really sorry that you ever had to.”

Sansa put her hand on his. “It’s okay. I wanted to.”

Ned shook his head. “You take far too much on. I wish you would stop and smell the roses.”

_ Well, we can’t all just opt out of life _ , she wanted to say, but bit it back. Things were going to be better now. There was no reason to dwell. No reason to fight. Sansa was an expert at biting back her negative thoughts like that. Maybe she did need a break, someone to voice her ugliest thoughts to, a male Ros to make her evenings warm again. But she was doing her best.

“I’m going back to the company,” Ned continued. “For good this time. I’d like to repay you for what you’ve spent on your education, take over any future payments. Maybe even grad school, if you’d like to go.”

“I’m okay, Dad, I’m working,” Sansa insisted.

“No, let me help you,” he insisted right back.

“I don’t - I’m fine on my own, Dad. I’ve been working really hard to be.”

Ned sighed and let go of her arm. “I know you have. I’m proud of your work, kitten, and I’m so sorry for my part in giving you that need for independence. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t step up more for you. I wish things had been different, that I’d been more of a support to you. You’re a grown woman now, and this is one of the only ways I can still offer that support.”

“Dad,” Sansa said, feeling lost. Aromatic smoke curled around them, sweet and thick. “Like I said, I’m fine on my own.”

Ned’s steady eyes locked her in place. “No, kitten. For the first time in a long time, I’ve realized that no one is fine on their own. It took me a long time to find the right kind of company, but I wasn’t managing without it, you know that. I wish you would date again. Or come over for dinner more often, Ros would love it, I think. She never had her own kids, and I know she’s not - I know she’s not Mom-”

“Dad,” Sansa repeated, horrified that Ned seemed on the verge of tears.

“Sorry, Sansa.” He paused for a moment. Sansa looked past him into the night, the lights of cars on the road below like fireflies in the distance. “I understand why you’ve kept your distance, I really do. I’m even glad you didn’t have to see me at my lowest. I understand if you’re angry with me, if you’ve hated me.”

“Never-" Sansa interrupted, but he continued.

“I’m so proud of what you’ve been able to accomplish. So proud. Just… know I’m here. And please think about what I said.”

Sansa hugged him, and he wrapped her up. Laughter rose up from inside, and for a moment, she was perfectly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup y'all. happy hump day! anyone doing anything fun this weekend they're looking forward to? oh right? GAME OF THRONES!!!!!!!!! can't believe we made it to the final season y'all. I can't wait for a Sansan reunion! Only a few more weeks that I can pretend they will totally start making out upon seeing each other.


	7. Chapter 7

School the next day was bliss. Leftover happiness leaked into Sansa’s mood even as she took a pop quiz on elements of genre. Things felt steady, stable. Like her family was rock solid underneath her again. Jon was leaving town in a few more days, and she actually found herself looking forward to the Greyw0rm concert. Missandei was going to lend her a dress, Dany was going to braid her hair, and Margaery had promised under pain of doing everyone’s dishes not to ditch them all at the first sign of manflesh. 

Sansa even went to the off-campus bookstore when she was finished, spending a few delicious hours ensconced in aisles of bestsellers, classics, and pulpy romance covers. She pulled a few of each off the shelves and curled into a chair with a tea to flip through them. She ended up buying a paperback copy of  _ Villette _ and another book that began a fantasy series about vampires and witches. It felt exquisitely naughty to waste time and money on books that weren’t required for class. Idly, she wondered what she’d do for a masters dissertation, and that thought too was an indulgence. 

She even stopped off to get a refill on her tea on the way out. For her, it was a decadent afternoon.

She wasn’t scheduled for work that day, but a coworker Celese texted her when she was about to head home. Her kids needed picking up from school, and her husband couldn’t leave his job site. Sansa shrugged inwardly - she had just spent some money, after all. No harm in making that back before dinner.

Celese was waiting, coat in hand, when Sansa arrived. “Go!” Sansa shooed her away, laughing a little. “Get those babies!”

“Thank you so much, Sansa, you’re the best. It’s just until eight, I promise!”

“It’s no problem, Celese. Get out of here!”

Waving, she did. Sansa got settled and pulled the books out of her purse, trying to choose one. Literary or contemporary romance? Maybe contemporary. She could use a little.

The sun had started to sink by the time traffic picked up again. It was that time of day that everything seemed to be covered in molten gold, every detail brought up against the sky in a high contrast of color. It was beautiful, but Sansa was busy. Traffic always picked up right before the weekend, commuters sneaking out of town early or headed into the city for dinner, shows, dates. She envied them a little, but didn’t have much time for those ugly feelings. She was too busy chirping at customers.  _ Like a little bird, he was right. And he’d also said a pretty one…  _ Soon there were more than she could handle quickly, and she was beginning to hope it would wind down, her smile starting to stay on through sheer willpower.

_ Come on, twenty more minutes like this, that’s all it will be. Just get through it. _

When Sandor came up in her line, Sansa was almost frustrated to see him. She didn’t have  _time_. “Hi Sandor!” she said anyway, trying her best not to sound stressed. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m just fine,” he rumbled up at her. “You? Lot of cars for one little bird.”

“It will calm down soon,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt about it. “I’m sorry that I can’t talk more, though.”

“I’ll see you next time,” he promised. It definitely sounded like a promise, anyway.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Sansa said before she could think. Instantly, she blushed.  _ Damn!  _ Now she’d be red all over. He grinned at her though, perfect teeth in a crooked smile, and she found herself smiling back through the embarrassment.

She was still smiling after him when she heard the crash.

One car, not accounting for the evening rush, had barreled toward her line unseen. By the time a driver looked into their rearview mirror and honked, it had been too late - seconds later, a screeching ended in a heavy slamming sound. There was a pop, hundreds of little plastic pieces going everywhere like rain, a woman’s scream.

It was the scream that did it.

Sansa shook like she’d been hit by a car too. She couldn’t take in what she was seeing, could barely see at all. The chaos and the noise and the burnt metal smell of the air nearly made her pass out. It seemed like she was high, pumped on adrenaline, and yet unable to move. Utterly unable to help.

_ She was useless, useless, she didn’t deserve to be here like this, she couldn’t help them, she couldn’t help anyone, and everyone was gone… _

She saw console lights go on in a chorus as people leapt from their cars. She saw smoke, the balloon of an airbag sagging out of a door. She saw Sandor, it had to be him, racing on foot back toward the collision.

And then she didn’t see anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> action chapter!! I feel like the story really starts after this one. :)


	8. Chapter 8

****_ “Sansa. Sansa. Sansa, can you hear me? Little bird. Sansa.” _

Sansa was curled into a ball on the floor of the toll booth. Her joints ached from how small she was squeezing herself, folded up too many times for someone of her height. More than the stiffness was the fear, though, blinding her to everything else but her panic.

“Little bird.” She felt arms curl around her, and was pulled inexorably against a wall of a chest. She hid her face in it, not ready to emerge yet. “Everyone’s okay, little bird, but they’re going to take the ambulance. Are you okay? Do you need one?”

Sansa shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but she had to try. “I have to - “ she cleared her throat, hating the tears in her voice. “The booth.”

“What’s your boss’ name?”

She told him and he reached past her, adjusting her weight against him and using his other arm to swoop her books into her bookbag. Somehow he dug out her phone, and she could hear his side of the conversation as he filled her boss in. Her replacement was on their way, so he got permission to leave the booth open until then, as police were still on site and directing traffic. It sounded like they’d taken over from Sandor when they’d arrived, and the ambulance as well. 

Sandor carried her to his bike, which he’d parked around the corner of the booth, so she didn’t have to see what had happened. “Stay here,” he said quietly, setting her on the seat. She hugged herself again, but sat in place, staring down at the bike between her legs. It was a bizarre, unfamiliar sight, and only added to her sense of unreality. She could hear voices again, Sandor and some others. It sounded like he was giving the police her name and the information that the booth would be free until another attendant arrived. She saw him shaking hands with an EMT before jogging back over to her. He hurried back, pulling her against his chest again and placing a helmet on top of her head before wrapping his arms around her. “They don’t need you, little bird. One car had a dash cam, they’ll contact your boss for the security footage, and you’re gonna be off work tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she sniffed, repeating after him automatically. She felt fucking pathetic, sniveling and half-present, and when he asked her another question she said “okay” again without listening.

It appeared she’d agreed to go somewhere, but couldn’t even find it in her to be curious as he tucked her in against him and started up the bike. Instead she leaned back against the solid wall of his chest and closed her eyes, letting the cool air of the evening move through her lungs and dry the sweat on her forehead.

For the second time that week, Sansa found herself at the Starlite Diner. It was nearby, after all, and just as it had been the perfect place to laugh with Jon it felt like the perfect place to hide weepily in a corner. She leaned against Sandor as they walked in, all sense of impropriety gone. She felt like she could still hear the woman screaming, the crash of cars.

When they sat down, they were quiet for a moment. Sansa said she wasn’t hungry, but Sandor made her eat one of the fluffy cinnamon rolls they kept on the front countertop, and she ate it faster than she had thought possible. They ordered cocoa afterward, getting comfortable without saying a word.

Sandor was patient, not breaking the silence, just letting it stretch on until it became more comfortable. The background noises were soothing: humming lights, kitchen sounds, forks on plates. The low conversations of the one or two other couples at the diner.  _Not that they were a couple._

“Are you an EMT or something?” Sansa asked, thinking of how he’d dived right in, even as she panicked and froze.

“No, no,” Sandor said, sounding regretful. “Ex-military. Guess I’ve just been too conditioned to run in when something is going wrong instead of running away.”

“Oh, military, that makes sense.” She meant about his size, but his hand went to his scars. She shook her head, abashed. “I meant, you know, you’re a big guy.”

He laughed. The sound warmed and soothed the spikes of ice and unease that still felt like they were puncturing her stomach. “I know. I’m a management consultant now, but I started out as a personal trainer. Then I ran the gym. Then I helped other people run their gyms… now I consult on gym management structures, which pays better, but I miss being on the floor all day. I still drop in as a guest at my friend Bronn’s facility. Kind of jealous of him most days - he’s on the mats, I’m in the office. Been opening a new place out in Lannisport these last few weeks.”

“That explains why you don’t keep to a normal schedule,” Sansa realized aloud. His responding smile was warm, pleased.

“You been looking out for me, little bird?”

“I - I just noticed.” She dipped her head to take a sip of the cocoa. It was delicious, clearly made from instant mix and with canned whipped cream, but it suffused her with strength.

“I want you to know I’m not weak or anything,” Sansa managed, feeling she had to say it, even if the sudden weakness in her voice didn’t sound convincing. “I have a good reason for reacting like that, I um. My, um.” She shook her head, feeling too stuffy with unshed tears to finish.

“Let’s swap stories next time,” he said gently, reaching out with one crooked finger. For a moment she thought he was going to touch her lips, but he swiped some whipped cream off her nose, instead.

Sansa blushed.

Sandor smiled at her, and she didn’t feel embarrassed.  _ So there will be a next time. _

They talked about school instead. Sandor didn’t seem judgemental of the fact that Sansa was still a student: in fact, he confessed that he had barely finished high school, and had always meant to use the GI Bill to get a business degree. When he had worked his way up without it, that goal fell by the wayside, and he seemed to admire her for not giving up on it. It made Sansa flush with pleasure, feel like someone had finally let her admit how hard not quitting had been.

It turned out that Sandor had read a lot in the military, “with no one to write to or dream about,” he claimed, although she found that hard to believe. “If I tried to socialize too much, guys just tried to square up and fight. There are a lot of people in this world, and more of them in the army, who’ll take on the biggest guy in the room just to say he did. No honor in beating them up, either, even if that wouldn’t have gotten me brought up on charges.” He shook his head. “Bronn was really my only friend.”

He’d seen the covers of her books when he’d helped scoop her things up, but confessed that he wasn’t too into romance himself. He did have plenty of opinions about her other class reading, and when she brought up her epic poem assignment, it turned out he was familiar with the Homeric poems that plagued her. His favorite was  _ Paradise Lost _ , though, and Sansa confided that she hadn’t been able to get into that one either.

“It struck a chord with me, I guess,” he said. His face was animated by their conversation, and Sansa realized with a start that she’d stopped thinking about the events before the diner. Literary discussion had always done that for her, and even though Sandor was probably just trying to distract her, she was truly enjoying their conversation. “That part about the mind making a heaven out of hell, and a hell out of heaven? I’ve made a lot of heavens into hell over the years.”

“Sounds like  _ Breakfast at Tiffany’s _ ,” Sansa smiled. Her lips felt cracked, and the expression felt strange, but she smiled. She did.

Sandor seemed surprised. “The chick movie? Never seen it.”

“It’s more than that, it’s based on a book by Capote. You might like it.”

“You never know, I guess.” Sandor had finished his cocoa by then, and when the waitress came by he looked at Sansa questioningly. “Another, little bird?”

Sansa shrugged. “I’m not sure if I can have another whole one.”

“We’ll share, then.” The waitress nodded and moved away, returning them to their privacy, before Sansa could react. Okay, they’d share. She didn’t have to have any. She didn’t have to sip from the mug once he had. Casual intimacy wasn’t something familiar to her. It felt like everyone in the diner would know they’d never shared a mug before, like she wouldn’t act casual enough about it. 

_ Overthinking a mug already, that definitely helps. _

When it came, she took the first sip and set it down. He sipped it next, then offered it back again.

She took it, feeling daring. This time she could feel the whipped cream touch her nose, and they both laughed. Sansa’s laugh was weak and wobbling, but Sandor’s was rich and deep. It sparked something inside of her, something asleep but waking up slowly.

When they exhausted all of her classes, she asked more questions about his service. She’d always wanted to travel, and wanted to know if he’d gotten to. “The army sent me around the world,” he answered. “You know what I learned?”

“What?” she asked, ready for some exciting travel story that would stoke her jealousy.

“I learned that the most important part of every trip is the companionship you have with you. The guys by your side, or the guys who aren’t. It wasn’t the ideal.”

“I always imagined doing a semester abroad. But I couldn’t - I mean, it just never happened.” Rent was hard enough. He nodded like he understood, and seeing her disappointment, began telling her about a layover he’d once had in Italy. He’d been flying back to base after a shoulder surgery, no one to report to for a day. He’d had five good hours of daylight, and spent them getting lost on foot until he’d tried every pizza he passed and his shoulder ached like crazy.

“It was the best five hours of my life, I think.” He rubbed his chin, something she was noticing was a nervous habit of his. She wondered what it felt like to rub his face, if the bristles would itch or feel pleasantly scratchy. “Would have been even better with someone to explore with.”

“I’d love to go to Italy,” she sighed.

“I’m sure you’ll get there someday,” he promised. “Bright little bird like you? You could fly anywhere.”

Sip after sip, they shared the cocoa until it was gone.

Sandor insisted on paying, and when she climbed onto his bike this time, she sat behind him. He gave her his helmet again and showed her how to nestle her bookbag between his back and her stomach. Even though she’d been cradled much closer against him on the way to the diner, now that her adrenaline had worn off, she was much more aware of the feel of his body. He was so large as to be hard to grip onto, and his leather jacket had started beading with moisture as soon as they got outside. It should have been unpleasant, holding on for dear life to his cool, broad back, but it was utterly thrilling. When the bike roared to life underneath her, she could feel it rumbling through her thighs in a most improper way, but she couldn’t make herself care one bit.

_ "The mind is its own place, and in it self _

C _ an make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n. _

_ What matter where, if I be still the same…” _

— John Milton, Paradise Lost

_ “You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself. _

― Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go!! god I love this fic. going through it again I'm actually enjoying reading it, since it's been so long I can't really remember the pains of creating it. I came up with this story while I was commuting 40-90 minutes each day in standstill traffic. I'd always pass by the same people in the tollbooth and wonder what their story was, and then of course I started thinking about Sansan (especially when a hot guy on a motorcycle passed by!) I'm so glad that it all came together into a story that I'm proud of.
> 
> if you struggle with anxiety, panic attacks, or past abuse, I hope that this story is one that you can relate to and take strength from, and not something that offends you for its plotlines. without going too much into my personal life, I can assure you that I respect each and every person's story and what their needs are around recovery and respect. writing this has been therapeutic for me, which you could probably guess if you have read my equally mental health-studded fic "A Little Farther Down the Line." I sincerely hope that my writing also rings true for you, without any disrespect. if anything does strike you as insensitive, please let me know. this is just one fictional girl's story, and is not meant to make anyone feel like their journey is less easily wrapped up into a neat little beginning, middle, and end. my best wishes and love to anyone experiencing any of the same feelings and hardships as my Sansa.


	9. Chapter 9

After Sandor dropped her off at home, Sansa had gone straight to her room without answering any of her roommate's greetings and fallen deeply asleep. Surprisingly, she didn't dream at all.

In the morning they all had questions, but Sansa just redirected the conversation to the concert - it was that night, and they were happy enough to pick up the subject. She knew why she didn't want to talk about the crash - it had nearly debilitated her, and she still wasn't sure she'd taken it in. As for her late night cocoa with Sandor... it felt too precious to share, and she didn't know what it did or didn't mean, besides. 

They were distracted enough, though, by the night they had planned. Missandei started braiding her hair right after breakfast, Dany helping her between sips of coffee. Margaery finished up some homework and then began trying on every outfit she owned, insisting on Sansa’s opinion of each one. Sansa felt like she was being kind of quiet, but luckily, Margaery didn’t really need her opinions - she just needed someone to nod at every question. Did she look cute in this? How about this? She did, so Sansa just nodded from her place on the couch.

She didn’t really feel like leaving that couch, to be honest, as she was still emotionally drained. But seeing her friends so bubbly and happy had her hesitant to interrupt that happiness. So instead she laughed at Dany’s jokes, offered Margaery some opinions on her hairstyle, and thanked Missandei for lending her a dress. After she curled her hair, Dany added a small headband braid for her and sprayed it into place.

“There you go! Now you and Andei match,” Dany cooed, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Sansa, who had been sitting on her bed to allow the petite blonde better access to her hair, had to laugh again. Missandei’s box braids were markedly more elaborate. 

Dany and Margaery had gone for straight hair, and it took the four of them the better part of the afternoon to get scented, polished, and ready for a night of fun. Of course, they dragged it out with gossip and rosé, but it was all part of the ritual.

The sun had gone down by the time the doorbell started ringing. They’d invited the whole gang: Margaery’s brother Loras, a few of Dany’s friends from the stables she trained at, and of course Jon. Jon had even invited one of his and their late brother Rob’s best friend’s from childhood, Theon, to come hang out while he was in town. Missandei’s other friends would be at the venue already, as they hadn’t wanted to miss one minute of the VIP area at Greyw0rm’s show. Once everyone had had another drink, they piled into cabs and went off into the night.

The venue was huge, and they saw it before they pulled up, its lights pulsing against the sky. It was thrilling to be ushered in past the red ropes and into the VIP area backstage. The throngs of people looking up in envy as Sansa climbed the stairs between her giggling friends felt glamorous, delicious. It had once been all she wanted. Now, even as she thrilled in it, it felt a little hollow.

_ Snap out of it, Sansa _ , she thought to herself.  _ Enjoy this. _

She tried. They parked themselves around a booth behind the stage, off to the side so they could see Greyw0rm and the crowd that faced him. It was blinding, beautiful. The music was loud and fast and enveloping, the dark blue lights and neon yellows adding frenetic coloring to everyone’s face. The dancing was contagious, joyful. Only Greyw0rm, up on the stage, stood stoic as the powerful music emitted from his fingers. 

Sansa danced with Loras, then Jon. Jon dipped her low, making her laugh out loud as her hair fell behind her. It was fun, even if she had to tug her borrowed dress down afterward.

Some of Dany’s guy friends wanted to dance with her next, but she demurred politely and went with Margaery to get a round of drinks. Margaery was talking about some of Missandei’s friends they’d linked up with, debating aloud her odds of meeting and winning the heart of Greyw0rm himself.

Sansa’s mind was on Sandor, though. With a couple of drinks in her, yesterday’s events didn’t seem far away enough. With each sip of her sweet pink cocktail, she drifted away in her imagination. If Sandor was here, would he dance with her? Would he hold her as close as he had on his bike last night?

Would he kiss her?

So preoccupied was she that Sansa didn’t even notice that she was standing on the outskirts of her friend group. They’d all been drawn closer to the stage, wildly dancing, Theon open-mouthed in awe as Dany and Missandei kissed. Jon had gone off to buy a shirt for his coworker crush before the post-concert merch line, and so Sansa was alone when she saw him.

Not Sandor. Joffrey.  _ Of course he’s here _ ,  she thought, desperately.  _ Of course he’s at something like this. _

Seeing him in real life was so much worse than the nightmares. This was real, too real. His blonde hair caught the light from where he stood, dwarfed by suited bodyguards and the oversized shirts he insisted on wearing. His tight pants, expensive sneakers, and shining gold chain marked him from afar. Sansa hoped he hadn’t seen her, but she knew she stood out. She was tall, red-haired, and at the front of a pack of the loud group closest to the DJ. 

She swallowed hard. He was about to ruin everyone’s night. It wasn’t even a question. And so, despite the swelling beat, she walked slowly away, back toward the bar.

She barely got around the corner before feeling a hand grab her hard above the elbow. As she had predicted, he followed her, and she breathed a sigh of relief that they could at least do this away from her friends. She turned, trying to channel her inner steel, and schooled her features into an expressionless mask. It was too easy to fall back into. “Joffrey.”

“Sansa fucking Stark. It is you.” He didn’t make any move to let go of her, though, and Sansa didn’t say anything even though his grip hurt. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated from coke or molly or milk of the poppy, but but not a hair of his was out of place. He looked exactly the same, picture-perfect, every detail just right. Sansa had a flashback to his closet, everything polished, everything in place. 

“It is me,” she agreed quietly. Immediately she wished she had sounded stronger. But at least she had answered. She opened her eyes; somehow they had shut on their own. His eyes, locked on hers, were full of hate.

“Miss me?” he sneered, looking her over. Suddenly her dress felt too short, her heels too high. She felt stupid with her braided hair, the hair she’d loved so much earlier in the evening. Stupid for giving him anything to notice, to pick out and pick on. “So this is what you do now, is it? Go out to fucking clubs, probably spreading your legs for everybody?”

“You’re here.” Sansa pointed out, in a surge of defiance. She said it quietly, but she still said it.

“Looking for sluts! Looks like I found one.”

“That’s enough.” Sansa felt a presence over her shoulder then, a hand coming down on it. Jon looked meaner than he ever had, and Sansa felt a spike of panic at his getting involved.

“Jon, it’s okay.”

“Jon the bastard, is it?” Joffrey cackled with delight, clapping a little and staring Jon down. “The fake brother? I didn’t think you had any brothers left, Sansa.”

“Sansa, let’s go.” Jon’s eyes were hard, but his hand on her was soft. Suddenly Sansa was sick of it, sick of the hands on her, soft or hard. Family or foe. She stalked off, not listening to Jon and Joffrey’s raising voices behind her.

Her friends were still dancing, so Sansa grabbed her coat and went outside to wait for a cab. She could text them once she was safety too far away to be talked into staying. It took her a few attempts to get her coat on, her hands missing the sleeves from shaking. The street was deserted but for a cluster of smokers and a security guard, a thin layer of frost starting to form on the asphalt. 

“You okay?” The door swung shut behind Jon. He was wearing his giant black coat again, the fur framing his face. He looked more like Ned than he ever had, the lines in his face suddenly deeper.

“I’m fine, Jon,” she sighed, but let him wrap her in a hug anyway. “I’m just going to head home. I’m really sorry that our night out ended like this.”

“I’m glad I was here,” he insisted. “I just wish I could stick around to keep an eye on you.”

“It’s okay. I’m strong.” She tried to look it. His smile was sad. 

“I know you are, but you shouldn’t have to be a lone wolf.”

“But the pack is gone,” she whispered automatically, voice breaking.

“It’s just smaller,” Jon promised. “We’ll make it strong again.”

She saw the shirt draped over his arm and smiled. “I guess we can do that.” She hoped so, anyway. Despite everything, somehow it seemed possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, what did you think of game of thrones? when will they reunite??
> 
> I have The Biggest Job Interview Of My Career tomorrow so I may not post again until Wednesday, sorry in advance!!


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa didn't go to work the next day. She'd slept fitfully, fearfully, haunted by half-finished dreams. She couldn't stop hearing Joffrey's voice, screeching tires, amplified and echoing. Somehow she remembered more of the accident now that some time had passed, and the ghost of its burning scent haunted her like an otherworldly perfume. She didn't even manage to call in, instead texting her boss and a few coworkers until she could get her shift covered. It was unlike her, but her habit of covering for everyone else paid off and it didn't take long before everything was taken care of and Sansa was back in bed.

She didn't leave it until after noon, when she tore herself out of another round of nightmares to move groggily to the couch. Dany was at the stables, Margaery was at brunch with some of her classmates, and Missandei was in her room working on translations. When she came out for air and saw Sansa, sunk into blankets and parked in front of a Gilmore Girls marathon that she'd thought would cheer her up but couldn't focus on, she brought Sansa water and a beer. 

"Not sure what kind of hangovers you get, but if one of these doesn't help I'm down to order a pizza," she offered, and Sansa offered her a tight smile in return. It wasn't that she didn't think she could talk to Missandei, she just didn't want to turn the topic of conversation onto her. And maybe she  _ was _ just hung over. She certainly felt hollow enough, sick enough. 

"Thank, Andei. You're the best," Sansa said instead, and meant it.

Sansa wished she had a dog or something to force her out of the house. Instead her hair was tangled and her butt was falling asleep, and she still didn't move. She must have passed out on the couch again, because she didn't wake up until dinner, when the door slammed behind Margaery as she maneuvered her way in with armloads of shopping bags.

"Are you sick?" she demanded, dropping the bags and marching over to feel Sansa's forehead. "You'd better not be, we'll all get it."

"I'm fine." Sansa didn't sound convincing even to herself. She tried again. "Nothing contagious, anyway."

"She's just hungover," Missandei called, popping her head out of the kitchenette. "Hasn't eaten all day."

Margaery  _ tsk _ 'ed and went to put her things away. They suggested ordering dinner, but Sansa claimed she needed to go back to bed, and they let her go back into her bedroom to hide. She curled back into a nest, but was sure going back to sleep would make her have more nightmares, so she pulled up her laptop.

It didn't take long before clicking through her latest essay became clicking through Arya's Instagram. Rob's Twitter. Bran's YouTube page, Rickon's archived Vines. 

Catelyns's Facebook.

That one was the hardest. There were years of updates about the family, some achievement or another, some dinner or trip to celebrate. There was Rob, taller than Ned and even more handsome, the Disney prince looks that had sent all Sansa's childhood friends swooning with the charm to match. Arya, heartbreakingly beautiful in her tomboyish way, beaming as she ripped off her fencing helmet. Bran, sitting up proud and straight in his wheelchair, a blanket made from band shirts thrown over his lap. One photo saw him half-out of the chair, lifted on his hands into the air, shouting into the far side of the frame where Rickon was in midair above a skate ramp. Her parents at a holiday party, their matching sweaters making them look like a Hallmark card.

Sansa looked for a long time at her mom's hair, how soft and shiny she could tell it had been that night and every other. She could smell it still, the way she'd always known it to smell, powder and Yves Saint Laurent. Catelyn and Sansa had constantly been compared for their hair and looks, with Arya taking entirely after Ned. Sansa could still feel the connection, though it hurt, looking at those red strands of flame. They still matched her own.

Something tickled Sansa's foot and she looked down to see her phone vibrating. It was a text from the coworker who had covered for her. 

_ thanks for the hours lady! btw cute scary guy asking @ u today. u should hit that! _

Sansa smiled. It felt strange on her face.

There was a knock at the door, and Missandei poked her head in. "Hey, saw the light on. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Can I ask you something?" Sansa asked, on impulse. Missandei shut the door behind her and sat on the bed. 

"Shoot." 

"I... I'm interested in this guy but I think he's super different than me."

"Oh, that's... not what I thought you were going to say." Missandei squinted at her. "Okay, though. New guy. What's so weird with him?"

"He's just older. A vet. He's in the gym business? I mean, I do a free yoga class, like once a year? I just don't know, he kind of came out of nowhere."

"But he made an impression on you, huh?"

"Yeah," Sansa mused, thinking of being carried in his arms, imagining him wandering the streets of Rome. "An impression."

"Well, you know Dany's totally nuts, right?" Missandei asked calmly, causing Sansa to choke on a laugh. It was so unlike Missandei to say anything negative, especially about her girlfriend. Missandei laughed a little too, but kept talking. "I mean it. You should hear her when she's talking about some legal barrier to human rights. She's all fire and blood."

Sansa nodded, starting to understand. She and Missandei were always half inside a book, the far quieter half of their little girl gang. While Dany spearheaded charity crusades, moving from one to another, it was Missandei who quietly committed to them. Dany burnt food and swore often and reveled in fighting with her brother. Missandei translated poetry for fun, meditated, and was always trying new cookbooks. 

"Attraction isn't logical," Missandei explained. "Except it is. Her intensity balances me out. And together I feel like we're better versions of ourselves. Plus," she added with a wink, squeezing the lump of Sansa's foot through the blanket, "you can't control physical attraction."

This time Sansa really did laugh.

"You wanna change your mind about that pizza?" Missandei asked, standing up to go. "I could really go for some, Dany usually gets tacos with the equestrian crew."

"Yeah, cool," Sansa said, running her hands through the knots in her hair. "I could go for something good."


	11. Chapter 11

It took two more days, but Sansa went back to her life. It was when Monday rolled around and she found herself missing classes, too, that she finally forced herself out of it. She still missed a lecture, but wasn’t about to let it go further than that.

Next was work. When she was getting ready, she found herself taking more care. Part of it was the self care of ritual, of spraying out her hair with sweet-smelling wave spray, taking the time to create perfectly symmetrical cat eyes. Part of it was hope. She’d had another dream about Sandor the night before, just a brief, G-rated one, but it was a relief to have a break between the nightmares. In it he’d picked her up on his bike, driving them up and up and up into the clouds. 

She felt a little silly making sure she looked her best to go sit in her booth and make change, but it helped her feel better smiling at everyone who came through, even as they ignored her. There were tire marks on the road now, and a little bit of glass grit spread over the street, but if she didn’t look at it she didn’t have to think about it too hard. She was tired today, despite not having done much over the last few days, but she thought she was doing a pretty good job.

So when Sandor came, she was ready. He slowed to a stop in front of her, his smile cautious. His face already looked so familiar to her, lines and freckles from the sun hiding between his scars and his beard. And somehow already her heart ached just looking at him.

“Hey, little bird,” he greeted her, carefully. “You been sick?” 

“Just out,” she said, shrugging, taking his five and smiling back at him through her hair as she filed it away. She took a one and held it to him, trying to will herself into iron. “Thank you for the other night. I really owe you. I’d um.” He was grinning now, waiting for her to finish. “I'd love to buy you a coffee or dinner or something sometime. If you want - if you're free, that is. It's the least I could do.”

She was babbling. She shut up. Suddenly the last of her energy seemed sapped away, and she just knew if he said no or misunderstood her shy overture, she’d want to crawl right back into bed upon his rejection. Suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. 

Instead she focused on his hand, reaching up for hers. She reached back out automatically, and he grasped her hand in his for a moment. It was just a split second, but Sansa found herself feeling like holding hands out of a tollbooth with more people coming from behind him was totally normal. When he pulled his hand back, she found a card in her palm.

“Here,” he said gently. “I was hoping you might need it.”

She looked at it: bold, thick, minimal. Seemed right.

**SANDOR CLEGANE**

**MANAGEMENT + CONSULTING**

He waved as he drove away, and she typed the number into her phone.

It turned out that Sandor was a texter, for all that Sansa couldn’t imagine his enormous fingers typing on a phone. And maybe her bar for flirting was low, but his texts warmed her belly in a way that was unmistakable.

_ Hey it’s Sansa _ ,  she started with, not sure what to say and going for simplicity.

_ Sansa.  _ had been his immediate response, and her name had never thrilled her more.  _ Is that Irish or something for Little Bird? _

Sansa laughed. Her shift wasn’t over yet, but she hadn’t been able to wait before reaching out to him. She’d given it half an hour before deciding he was probably at his destination and able to text again. Now she was curled up in her chair, long and fuzzy cardigan wrapped around her. She’d meant to catch up on her homework, but her school supplies sat ignored now.  _ Sanskrit actually. Means charm.  _ She hesitated, then added a winky face.  _ Sanskrit actually. Means charm. ;)  _ There. Was that too much? She sent it anyway.

Again, she could see him typing right away. It thrilled her, imagining this powerful man perched somewhere at his workplace, maybe even still loitering in the parking lot to talk to her. His biceps were probably being pressed against his ribs as he lifted the phone to text, the jacket she’d seen him in probably off - on? - no, off. She bit her lip, feeling ridiculous for her reactions to his texts, but this was the most forward she’d ever been. And he was matching her interest. More than, it seemed. Maybe he was just a player, but somehow she just couldn’t think so.

_ Makes sense _ , came his reply.  _ Sandor’s just Hungarian for Alexander, before you ask. Not as interesting… or as perfect for a charming little bird.  _ Sansa Googled the meaning of Alexander quickly: protector of men. Fitting.

_ If I’m a little bird, what does that make you?  _ Sansa wedged a nail into her mouth, ignoring her carefully-applied American manicure. As new as this was for her, she was thrilled. Even though he’d seen her mid-panic attack, Sandor was still treating her like she wasn’t totally innocent, like she could be teased, could be treated like a woman. And no matter how much work she’d done to become an independent adult, it felt different to be seen that way by such a man. It felt good.

_ Just a hound dog _ .  She frowned at that. It didn’t sound as light as the rest of the conversation. 

_ Why a hound?  _ she asked, wanting to understand before responding.

_ I like dogs better than people... A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. _  It was a sad response, but she understood it. 

_ I like dogs too _ ,  she said instead of being tempted into conversations about liars. Joffrey had no place in this conversation.  _ Really want one someday. _

_ Me too. Don’t know what’s stopping me, actually, I grew up with them. _

They talked dogs for a while - he’d had a mutt named Stranger when he was younger, and she told him about the wolves Jon was working with up north. Luckily, he didn’t ask too many other questions about her family, instead turning the conversation to their date. He suggested a few restaurants that Sansa knew were pricey, and when she teased him about his wanting to be wined and dined, he teased her back.  _ Surely you know you're not actually paying - I know you're in school, and you have no idea how much I can eat. _

She hadn't thought of that.  _ Well, when should I find out about your competitive eating powers? _

_ Tomorrow? _  That this text came quickest of all sent Sansa spinning. Tomorrow, though… 

_ I have a study group at around 5 and I'll probably be beat afterward, actually. I'm kind of an old lady. _

_ If you’re old, then I’m ancient. How about before your study group? I can pick you up in the morning. _

Oh right, because he’d taken her home already. Sansa was a little disappointed at downgrading their dinner to a lunch, but it would still be good to see him. Maybe it would be even better to keep their first date casual - even thinking the word  _ date _ , after all, was a long-forgotten thing to her.

_ Sounds good. Just let me know when you’re headed over. _

_ Can’t wait. _

_ Me either. _

No response came, and Sansa imagine he’d finally gone into work. It was only much later, when she got home, that her phone buzzed one more time.

_ Do you trust me? _

Surprised, she stared at the screen, stock-still in front of the oven where she’d been standing over her dinner. It wasn’t that she mistrusted him, it just seemed so soon to declare that she trusted anyone. It was hard for her to trust - in fact, it was the whole reason she hadn’t agreed to a date like this in four years.

But maybe trusting was always a leap of faith. Maybe she had to start somewhere. And despite the part of her brain that pointed out how big Sandor was, how much more he could hurt her than Joffrey if he decided to, there was another part of her that felt instinctively safe with him. It went back to the feeling of being in his arms. Being warm, cradled, protected from everything around her and even from her own inner anguish.

Sansa came to a decision, entirely conscious. She would trust him, wherever that lead. If he didn’t end up deserving of that trust, she would never date again. Officially. And if he did…

_ I trust you _ ,  she answered, feeling a thrill go through her at hitting send. His only response, a winky face that mirrored her first one, made her smile. 

It felt like a trust fall. First you trust. Then you fall. And she already knew that his arms were built for falling into.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DATE TIME!!

Sansa barely slept, excited beyond reason. She felt more energized, stronger than the day before. Like a line had been drawn, before and after, and she was on the right side of that line. She woke up early, not knowing what time he was going to come over, and considered her entire closet while waiting for her shower to warm up.

She was showered and made up, back in front of the closet in her underwear when her phone buzzed from the bed.  _ Surely that’s not him already. _

It was.  _ Be there in 20. Dress code: pajamas. _

Pajamas? She snorted, sitting down on the bed to pick up her phone. It was pretty early, but where could they go without being properly dressed? She was actually pretty hungry, maybe a drive-through? Weird date though.

PJs? Really? she texted back, already looking through her drawers for her cutest clean pajama pants.

_ Trust me, remember? _

She was downstairs when he pulled up. She felt a little silly in her purple cotton lounge pants, white thermal and college sweatshirt, carrying her purse. When a truck pulled into the parking lot of her building, she didn’t look twice at it, but it parked next to her and Sandor popped out.

Sansa laughed. He was wearing blue and green plaid drawstring pajama pants and a t-shirt that said BLACKWATER GYM, looking just as underdressed as she did. He held his arms away from his body and did a slow spin, grinning. Now that she was in control of her senses she could take it in to full effect: his shirt clinging to his obliques, skimming over his torso. His pants, the plaid disguising the bulge enough that it was all she could do not to look a minute longer.

“No bike?” It hadn’t occurred to her that he would drive anything else, but the truck made sense, too.

“No helmet for you,” he answered, coming close enough now to put his palm atop her head. She grimaced up at him, but he just cupped her head in his hand like a basketball, grinning again before letting go. “I shouldn’t have brought you on the bike without it, but it seemed like an emergency.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, biting her lip. She didn’t really want to talk about that night, not yet. “So explain the PJs thing?”

“Hop in,” he said, walking backwards to the truck to open the door for her. “I’ll explain on the way.”

The truck was fun, Sansa decided. She liked seeing over the other cars, feeling tall and powerful. It must be how Sandor felt all the time, just walking around. From the passenger seat she had a full view of his scars, and it was pretty incredible how much of a difference it made seeing him only in profile from one side to the next. She was taking them in when he glanced over and caught her. “Penny for your thoughts,” he rumbled, and she turned red all over. 

“I was just - I was just wondering if it was easier or harder, people knowing you’ve been through something just by looking at you.”

Sandor raised his eyebrows. Apparently he hadn’t expected that answer. It took a long minute before he said anything else, and Sansa watched him watch the road as he thought. He was a careful, deliberate driver, and he steered them out of her neighborhood like he’d been there a hundred times before.

“I can tell by looking at you,” he said finally. She fiddled with the tie of her pajama pants. Somehow their conversations just wanted to be serious, even when they were dressed for bed. “It’s on your face, too. Just not like mine is.”

She pressed her forehead against the window, suddenly tempted to give up. Of course it was obvious. Of course she was clearly damaged. She didn’t know why she thought she could date again in the first place.

Sandor’s hand found hers where it rested in her lap. Their fingers curled and caught, his hand heavy on her leg. She didn’t look up from the window, but smiled. So what if she carried her pain on her face? Sandor did it, and he was still strong. She was too.

“So tell me where we’re going,” she said finally, trying for light and teasing. 

He glanced over at her before merging, a smile lighting his grey eyes again. “Well, you said you were kind of an old person, right?”

“Right,” she agreed.

“Well, I’m taking you on an old person date. Starting with an early bird breakfast special.”

Sansa laughed loud and long. “Oh gods, that sounds great. You can order black coffee and oatmeal.”

“We can talk about moving pictures and kids these days.”

“We can just skip all the dating and get straight to being an old married couple.” She meant it as a joke, but bit her tongue upon hearing it aloud.

Sandor’s eyebrows shot up again, but when he looked at her, his eyes were soft. “Sounds good.”

He took her to a sweet little café that felt like a grandma’s living room, with decades-old tablecloths and a cat sunbathing in the front window, although that definitely couldn’t be up to code. They sat under a vintage framed newspaper with a headline from Robert’s Rebellion and ordered coffee and orange juice in carafes. Sansa got pumpkin pancakes with homemade cinnamon butter, and Sandor ate his way through two omelettes and three sides of potatoes as she watched in impressed horror. Now she really was glad he’d warned her about how much he ate.

When they were done, they walked over to a pet shop and feed store on the same block, and Sansa cooed at bunnies while Sandor bought something at the counter. She felt weirdly comfortable hanging out in their PJs together. Trust paid off. At least so far, she was having fun.

It turned out that he had picked up wild bird food, and their next stop was a nearby pond. “Feeding ducks,” Sandor announced, handing her the bag. “Another old person classic.”

“Best date ever,” Sansa said with feeling. “You could go pro.”

Sandor laughed. “Good to know. It's not something I actually do often, so I appreciate the feedback.” They were walking toward a bench, and as they sat, ducks started looking at them hopefully. The bench was under a heart tree, its red leaves sheltering the bench from view of everything but the still, black pond. It was a peaceful place, filled with feathered locals.

“You don't date often?” Sansa asked as they sat. He hesitated, and she could feel her heart speed up. Did neither of them know what they were doing? “When was your last date?”

He shrugged finally. “Probably a year ago when a well-meaning client set me up with his best trainer. A woman named Brienne. We had way too much in common, so much so that I ended up hiring her instead. Great employee, great trainer, but no love match. You should see the prettyboy she's with now.”

Sansa smiled. "You're not a prettyboy?”

Sandor almost choked, scaring the ducks that were gathered around them. He waited for them to settle again, tossing or another handful of birdseed, before answering. “I’m not and you know it.”

Sansa wanted to keep teasing him, but he seemed serious. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it, dumping the rest of the birdseed on the ground with his other hand and crumpling the bag to put in his pocket. They were swarmed with ducks, a few brave ones coming up to their feet, making Sansa shriek and jump. He chuckled, a few ducks flapped, and one angry one squawked at her. She laughed with him, glad the uncomfortable moment had passed. She wasn’t good at heaping compliments on men, but she didn’t let of his hand all the way back to the truck, willing him to feel those compliments instead.

“It’s only one?” She was honestly shocked at the dashboard clock when they slid back into the cab, and looked up at him in surprise.

“Sick of me already, little bird?” He smiled at her, but she could tell now that his eyes were unsure.

“Definitely not,” she assured him. “I’m just surprised, it feels like we’ve been together all day. Do you have anything to do later?”

“Not a thing all weekend, past getting my workouts in and maybe doing some grocery shopping. Do you want to see a matinée next?”

“Very old people,” she said approvingly. “Although I don’t know - I’d really rather keep talking, if you don’t mind, and a movie would take up the rest of our time together.”

He looked at her for a long minute. His eyes were the color of ashes, fringed by dark eyelashes and darker eyebrows, and his mouth curled in a permanent frown on the scarred side, silver lines rippling up over his cheek and temple. His uneven beard was a dozen colors, rust and black and chestnut brown, little greys peeking out here and there. He  _ is _ pretty, she decided, although she didn’t say it out loud.

“I’d like to keep talking, too,” he said quietly. She started - she’d gotten so lost in looking at him that she forgot they were having a conversation. He didn’t seem to notice. Belatedly, she wondered if that meant he had been looking at her.


	13. Chapter 13

“Do you have a library card?” Sandor asked her as they pulled out of the lot. 

“A library card?” Sansa hadn’t known what to expect, but this was so different - and so much more fun - than she’d anticipated. “I don’t think so, actually.”

He shot her a mock-horrified look before he put his eyes back on the road. “You’re an English Lit major, little bird. You don’t have a library card?”

She laughed. “You got me. I use the campus library! Different system.”

“I remember you had books in your bag the other day, so I thought we'd go there. You can get a card while you're there, actually. It's a great free resource, and worth supporting. They close if no one goes to them, you know.”

Sansa hid a smile. He was very thoughtful, but she hadn’t expected him to be a defender of public libraries at first sight. Maybe she’d underestimated him. “I’m sorry, of course I’d love to go to the library.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re such a polite little bird. I'm sorry to nerd out, I just spent a lot of time in the library as a kid.”

“Oh, big bookworm?” she asked, thinking about her brother Bran.

“Not really, I preferred gym class. Didn’t really read much until high school and the army. But the library was open late and on weekends by me, and it was a good place for a kid who didn’t want to go home most days.” He cleared his throat, but was clearly not trying to make a big deal out out what he’d said. It made her sad for him, curious, but she wasn’t about to pry. She had enough she’d have to tell him, if they kept dating. Let it come in its time.

“That makes sense,” she said softly. They were rolling through suburb after suburb, and she decided to move the conversation forward as smoothly as she could, calling on every Catelyn Stark manners lesson she’d received. “I imagine we’ve passed a library or two by now, don’t you?”

“We have. There’s a beautiful historic one in the foothills, though.”

“Oh! How lovely.” Sansa snuggled back into the seat, resisting the urge to tuck her feet underneath her. “You must be an old soul, you’re nailing this lineup.”

Ha laughed. “Old soul, huh? I’ll have to switch it up next time so you know I’m not just some fuddy-duddy.”

“See, only fuddy-duddies say fuddy-duddy,” she teased. It was nice to joke with him about their age difference in a casual way. Now they’d acknowledged it, but moved beyond it. It warmed her to feel how well things were going, almost to the point that she was nervous that the next minute would turn everything on its head. 

The next minute, they pulled into the library. She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. It was beautiful. Arches, columns, spires. Maybe even a gargoyle or two. “It’s positively medieval,” she breathed, craning her neck to take it all in. “I love it!”

Once inside, Sandor had another card up his sleeve. “Want to pick out books for each other?” he asked under his breath, once they’d stepped inside and Sansa had quietly  _ ooh _ -ed and  _ ahh _ -ed over the high ceilings and dark wood. 

“No pressure,” she joked back in a whisper.

He reached for her hand and gave it another squeeze - it almost felt normal, by now, like hand-in-hand was their natural state.

Sansa spent a few minutes just wandering, marveling at the stacks of books, the majestic silence of them. It really was a beautiful library, and timeless. She entertained herself for a few minutes by imagining that she was a lady in a beautiful gown, sweeping through hallways in her noble castle. It was a fun thought, but the day she was having was already far beyond her imagination. There really was nowhere she’d rather be.

She hadn’t realized what a good task Sandor had set until she’d starting looking. She really had to think about him, make guesses based on the minimal amount she knew about him already. It made her realize how much there was to learn.  _ I hope I like it all. _ But that wasn’t her real concern.  _ I hope I can handle it all  _ was. And yet, she’d handled everything in her own life so far. Maybe it hadn’t been so easy lately, but maybe if she could share it with someone, she’d have the space to take on someone else’s issues too. It was a heartening thought. Not because it was a fantasy, but because it felt realistic. 

She’d thought to get him a history book, and spent some time looking at a book about knights, but couldn’t be sure about what parts of history he might be interested in. Certainly nothing about any war.

She was looking at the self-help next, but had to remind herself that she was looking for Sandor and not herself. Next she checked fiction, where she caught Sandor between two shelves. He was flipping through  _ Outlander _ , seemingly intrigued. “I’ve read that,” she confessed.

“So it was a good pick,” he defended, putting it down. “How are you doing?”

“So great,” she lied, making a face to show him she was kidding. “I’m having fun, though.”

“Me too.” He rested his hand easily on a shelf Sansa could barely reach on her tip-toes, leaning in toward her. “Want to call it?”

Her body wanted to lean in to his, she could feel the pull of it. But she’d liked his idea so much, she didn’t want to give up on it, either. “No, let’s find something!” She whirled away, looking back at him before she turned at the end of the aisle. 

He’d already sunk into a squat, clearly determined to find something. She took in the firm press of his legs against his comfortable pants, his t-shirt. She’d practically forgotten they were wearing their pajamas, so comfortable had she felt, the way he looked at her. Joffrey had sneered at her nicest dresses, laughed at her taste in shoes and jewelry if it wasn’t the most expensive, the most current brand. She already felt better with him in her college sweatshirt than she ever had with Joffrey in those beautiful outfits. Although she’d love to see what Sandor looked like all dressed up.

Thinking about their conversations led her to the Philosophy section. She browsed for a bit, not sure what school of thought most suited his style. Finally she settled on a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and started a slow wander to find him again.

She found him in the last place she looked. He was crouched down again, this time sandwiched between two children perusing the picture books. When he saw her, he stood, scattering giggling children with the motion.

“I’m not that young, you know,” she teased, walking up to him with her pick hidden behind her back. “Unless you’ve just underestimated my reading level.”

He snorted. “Fat chance. You know more about books than I ever will, so I realized I couldn’t get you a novel, and I thought of this.” He handed her a heavy book of fairy tales, the pages gilded, the illustrations beautiful.

And familiar.

“Oh-” she took it, her eyes nearly watering just on sight. It was the exact edition her mom had had, had read to her brothers and sisters when they were children. “I can’t believe it - my mom had this. It must have been lost…”  _ when my dad lost the house after she died. After they all died.  _ She didn’t say it, but he must have sensed something missing.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out to take it back. “What horrible luck.”

“No, it’s - I’d like to check it out. It’s a great choice. What made you think of me?” He huffed a little, clearly embarrassed now. Perversely, it cheered Sansa up to see.

He took the book back, holding it carefully now instead of trying to pluck it away. He flipped to the middle, back a bit, and found his page. “Here.” He turned it around, displaying a beautiful woodcut-style illustration at the top of a new chapter. A chapter labelled  _ Beauty and the Beast _ .

She tried to contain her giggles, being in the library and all, but soon they were both laughing together. A librarian poked her head around the corner to hush them, but that only made them laugh harder.

They checked out their books and walked back to the car, Sansa delighting in the new library card she’d received, and Sandor already reading the back of her pick for him. “You know, I don’t take kindly to being called a beast,” she teased, once they were in the cab of the truck. He smiled, but didn’t take the bait, instead maneuvering them out of the parking lot and heading back toward her apartment. “I don’t much like you calling yourself one either.”

He sighed. “Just a joke, little bird. I know what I look like.”

“Do you?” It wasn’t like her to be this forward, but she forged ahead, feeling that her sense of propriety would be more upset by allowing him to continue to think such horrible untruths. “You’re very handsome, Sandor.”

“I know I must be half good-looking, for you to be here with me. I think I know which half, too.”

She sighed, feeling sad that he couldn’t accept her compliments. They had an hour left, and so they stopped at a coffee shop in Sansa’s neighborhood for one last cup of coffee (him) and tea (her). Once they were sitting outside, overlooking a park and splitting a muffin, she brought it up again. “Sandor, what made you so sure your scars make you - well, the Beast?”

He cleared his throat, clearly a little uncomfortable, but he took the bait. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t be rejecting such a sweet compliment from such a beautiful woman. It’s a habit that I unfortunately developed at an early age. Kids are cruel, and teenagers are crueler.”

“You got them as a child?” She was surprised. “I thought-”

“Most people do think I got them from my service,” he answered, acknowledging her unspoken thought. “I think maybe that’s a subconscious part of why I signed up. No, little bird, I got these as a pup.” He didn’t explain further, or offer to explain one day, but Sansa let it go. 

“Still,” she said instead. “A grown woman should be able to look past them. They’re not so bad, you know.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “They used to be worse. I got what surgery I could, but they’re too old of a wound, too much a part of me. And there have been women, here and there, but they make me vulnerable to… well. My last serious girlfriend only stuck around about nine months, and I think in the end it wasn’t me she liked, but the military check and stability. She would use my face against me when I’d confront her about her spending, her pushing to get married, telling me that I should be so lucky, that no one else would want a man with… like this.”

Sansa’s blood was boiling hotter than her tea. She wiped muffin crumbs off her hand and reached out to touch Sandor’s face, cupping a small part of his scarred cheek briefly in her palm. Her eyes met his, and she was touched by what she saw. His eyes, like troubled water, had clouded with an unsure grey. She sensed that telling him he was handsome again wouldn’t be enough to soothe them.

So she took a deep breath and decided to be a little bit brave. He had told her something painful, and she could give him something in return, if it would help. “I know what that’s like.”

He looked surprised, but didn’t speak. She thought his eyes swept over her face briefly, as though scanning for some hidden scar. Sansa didn’t have a single scar, though, except for those that couldn’t be seen.

“My last boyfriend… my only boyfriend. He told me things about myself that I believed. It’s so easy to believe horrible things about ourselves, especially when someone we love and trust is telling us those things. Easy to believe you are… you know. Stupid. Ugly. Unloveable.”

“You could never be those things,” he swore, looking disturbed, looking like he wanted to hit something but didn’t know where to aim.

Sansa shrugged. “He was wrong. I believe that now, mostly. She was wrong, too.”

“You’re wise beyond your years, little bird,” he said finally, though she could tell he had more to say.

She shrugged, though the motion was mostly lost in her oversized sweatshirt. “I’m trying.”

Sandor insisted on buying her a refill for class, as well as more muffins for her study group. They chatted a little about her assignment and the rest of his day as he took her back to her apartment, finally parking in the spot he’d picked her up from. Sansa knew she’d have to run upstairs to get dressed before meeting everyone, but she didn’t want to leave, either. “Thank you for today,” she said, amazed that they’d spent five hours together as easy as breathing. “I had a great time being old people.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” he answered. “I’d love to take you back to my retirement home for some bingo, but maybe… next time?”

“Next time,” she confirmed, and paused for a beat before reaching for the car door. Did she want to kiss him? Was he going to kiss her? She wasn’t sure, and in her hesitation she found herself squinting up into his face. He chucked, and she blushed. “Sorry. I was just - “

“Waiting for this?” he murmured, closing the distance between them with one tilt of his long torso, his hand finding her face, his thumb on her chin. Their lips met gently, gently, the press of his lips on hers far less intense than the feel of his enormous palm against her cheek, the balsam-cedar smell of him. Now that Sansa could lean into him, she nearly melted forward, so much so that she felt off balance when he released her. He chuckled and touched her face again, Sansa blushing up toward his. She couldn’t help but smile, and he returned it, until both of them were grinning, laughing, and this time she leaned forward first. He deepened this kiss a little, carefully, tilting his head until his nose brushed her cheek. When he leaned back again, Sansa had to blink and remind herself that she had somewhere to be.

Sandor got out of the car as she gathered her things reluctantly, opening the door for her and helping her down. She thought he would kiss her again, but he hugged her instead, and that was even better. His arms were as warm as she remembered, and she could feel the strength behind his gentle embrace. She snuggled into it for a moment, acting on sheer instinct, before pulling away to go. It was harder than she’d expected. 

Sansa took one more look at him, to last until next time, before waving goodbye. He raised one large, sure hand in return - but waited until she was inside safely before driving away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! do you listen to music when you read? I listen when I write! there's even a takes its toll playlist[here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1252977635/playlist/3xAWNhznJahATHDEliH8t4?si=IVkhCgNqQTCYyJWNTufQyQ).


	14. Chapter 14

“Hey Sansa, where were you yesterday?”

Dany’s voice sounded light and innocent, but Sansa immediately froze over the sink. The girls were doing their Sunday morning clean, Sansa doing dishes, Dany cleaning out the fridge and trash cans, Missandei downstairs washing the couch cover and rug with her laundry, and Margaery sweeping and vacuuming the floors. They swapped often, but Sansa found the dishes pretty relaxing, even if they did turn her hands into prunes.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked carefully, not turning around. She hadn’t told any of her roommates about her date with Sandor - Missandei would have relayed their talk to Dany by now, though, and if she’d been seen getting into Sandor’s truck… or out of it... Sansa was glad she hadn’t turned around, and drew her shoulders up further to hide her blush.

“What do you mean?" Dany repeated, in a fair estimation of Sansa’s voice. “Sansa! I saw you making out with a giant dude and I want to talk about it!”

“WHAT?” Margaery was in the room so fast that she was still holding a broom in her hand. “Seven hells, no one tells me anything around here.”

“It was - you guys, I -" Sansa looked from one to the other, but honestly didn’t know what to say. Her instinct was to claim it was nothing, but it wasn’t. It hadn’t been. She’d barely been able to sleep last night, going over every minute of their date, trying to commit it to memory before their perfect bubble was inevitably burst. “His name is Sandor,” she said quietly, after a second.

Margaery shrieked, and Sansa found herself somehow wrapped up into Dany’s arms, petite as she was. They both started asking questions, Margaery vibrating with energy. It actually made Sansa a little emotional - she hadn’t known how much her roommates… her friends… had cared about her love life.

Dany squeezed her and let her go. “We’ve been hoping for so long that you would be ready to date again. It’s so great, Sansa. Margaery, don’t you think it’s great?”

“It’s  _ so _ great, girl. I’m so happy for you! You’re totally over that asshole and you’re totally getting laid.” Dany narrowed her eyes at Margarey, who shrugged, but Sansa laughed.

Missandei came back in with an armload of laundry, and Sansa hurried over to meet her. “Andei, I was right!” Dany called behind her.

“I thought you might be.” Missandei smiled at Sansa, and the girls got the cushion cover back on together as Dany filled Margaery in on what she’d seen. It was embarrassing knowing that someone had seen their first kiss, but Sansa couldn’t regret anything about it, especially hearing how excited it made them.

“What did you guys do?” Missandei asked more casually, causing Dany and Margaery to perk up and start listening. 

“Oh, we went to breakfast and the library.” Sansa said, feeling shy. 

“Eugh,  _ what _ ?” Margaery said, but everyone ignored her.

“That sounds fun,” Missandei said instead, smiling in an encouraging way at her. “Dany and I do that sometimes, it’s a great coupley thing to do. Sounds sweet.”

“It was,” Sansa agreed, and Margaery flopped herself backwards onto the couch they’d just set up.

Dany snorted and pushed Margaery’s legs down to sit beside her. “Tell us about him. Where’d you meet? When can we meet him? Does he go to WU?”

“Have you told him your deep, dark secrets?” Margaery cut in. Dany swatted at her without looking away from Sansa. “I’m sorry, girl, sorry. You’ve just never dated anyone before, so I’m really curious about how… you know, how it’s going to go.”

Sansa shrugged. She knew how Margaery was, and didn’t blame her for it. “To be honest, I’m wondering the same thing. I met him at work, and I really like him. But I guess… we’ll see. This is new. It’s all new.”

“He works at the tollbooth?” Dany clarified.

“No, he works across the bridge. He came to my booth.”

“Yeah, he did,” Margaery crowed.

“Shut up,” Dany told her. “So not a student. I didn’t see him up close, just that he was a big guy.”

“Yeah, he’s tall.” Sansa didn’t know how much else was hers to tell. But maybe he’d meet them, if things kept going well. “I don’t know him well, but you know, he might be around. Eventually.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Dany announced.

“Me too,” Missandei agreed.

“Me three,” Sansa giggled, feeling lighter than air.

Encouraged by her friends’ reactions, Sansa found herself daydreaming about Sandor through the rest of their cleaning. She’d stayed up late paging through the book, happily nostalgic for the days when she'd believed in princes. It made her fall asleep easily, even if the nightmares eventually found her.

Now she was finishing her homework, still half-daydreaming, when her phone rang. 

“Oh, hey Dad,” she answered, a little surprised to see Ned’s face on her screen.

“Hey, kitten.” he said. “You doing okay?”

“I’m doing great! Why, what’s wrong?”

She could hear tinkering sounds, as though her Dad was cooking. She smiled. He’d once been a grillmaster, mixing his own spice rubs and marinades. It sounded like he was back to it. “Oh, you know… I talked to Jon, he’s back on the base and back to work.”

“Oh, awesome.” She put her pencil down and stretched her legs out. “He texted me when he got there but I haven’t talked to him since.”

“Well, he told me you guys went out and had a nice night.”

“We did.”

“But maybe it didn’t end so well?” His prompting was gentle, but Sansa sighed when she realized what he was getting at.

“Yeah, we ran into Joffrey. It’s okay, Dad.”

“Are you sure?” She could hear his concern, and was touched that he’d given her a few days to get over it, probably worrying about her the whole time. So she bit back the part of her that didn’t really want to talk about it, especially when she’d been in a good, Joffrey-free mood. 

“I’m sure. It was just a random run-in, I’m sure it won’t happen again. And Jon was there, he made sure nothing bad happened.” She hoped Jon hadn’t told Ned the specifics of what he’d overheard, though. She was used to hearing it from Joffrey: she could take it.

“Okay, hon. Well…” Ned paused, and she heard a sizzle. “Well, if you want to talk, I’m here. And if you’d like to talk to someone else… I mean to say, if you ever want to see a professional, just for your own peace of mind, I would love to pay for it.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Sansa said, although she wanted to sigh. She knew she needed therapy. They’d both gone, after the accident, but it hadn’t worked for either of them at the time. Ned had spiralled and quit going, and Sansa had still been in fight or flight mode, still wholly consumed with breathing and staying alive hour after hour. After Joffrey, she probably should have gone again, but she’d been afraid to tell anyone out loud how bad it had been, to keep those memories alive once she’d gotten free of him.

And so it had all gone untouched, and she knew it festered. But Ned hadn’t gone either, and so the push was difficult to receive gracefully, even when given out of love. She just had to remind herself that nothing he had or hadn’t done took away his right to worry about her.

They hung up after a little more light conversation and an invitation for dinner in a week’s time. Sansa hadn’t felt like bringing up Sandor yet. Somehow it hadn’t felt like Ned would have trusted in her taste in the middle of a conversation about Joffrey. She was in a weird mood, and glad she was able to finish her homework later. She did want to talk to someone, but that someone wasn’t a therapist. Not right now.

_ Hey, how’s it going? _ she texted Sandor.

It felt bold, texting him first again so soon, but as soon as she put her phone back down, it pinged in response.

_ Hello little bird. Having a good day? _

She chewed her lip. She didn’t want to complain, but also didn’t want to be dishonest. She settled for  _ could be better. _

It took a moment for him to reply this time. She started to worry that she’d been too needy, that she really did just have terrible taste in guys, or was so bad with them that it she would never be successful in love... and then he responded. 

_ Are you free? _

Relief washed through her, followed by a blaze of bright happiness. Now, with no hesitations, she just said  _ Yes. _


	15. Chapter 15

Sansa re-dressed quickly, keeping her jeans and comfy boots on, but switching out her hoodie for her favorite white blouse and a cinnamon-colored cardigan. It felt very autumnal, and she finished the look with a lipstick in a similar rust color. Last she pulled her hair half-back, finishing just in time to hear a motorcycle rumbling to a stop below her bedroom window.

She poked her head out, her hair blocking her view at first as she scanned the parking lot. “Sandor?”

“Here, little bird.” She blinked - he was standing practically below her, which was why she hadn’t seen him. He was looking up at her now with something like awe, clutching something against him, both halves of his face in perfect harmony as he took her in. Sansa smiled, happy to see him. “I’ll be right down!”

“Take your time,” he called, but she barely heard him, so quickly did she retreat from the window to leave.

Missandei gave her a wave from the kitchen on the way out, but she didn’t see anyone else in the living room, and thanked her lucky stars as she hurried out to meet Sandor.

He met her at the door, leaning down to claim a swift kiss that made Sansa smile all over again. “Hey, little bird. You alright?”

It was too much like Ned’s call, him asking her that. She fought the urge to frown, but just nodded, determined that being with Sandor would cheer her up, not make her wallow pointlessly further. “Yes, thank you. But I’m glad to see you again so soon!”

“Me, too,” he rumbled, and handed her a helmet. It was clearly what he’d been holding against his body, and just as clearly wasn’t his, small as it was. 

“Is this for me?” She grinned, looking it over. It was silver and black, and looked just like Sandor’s with the addition of some filigree detail. “I didn’t get you anything!”

He rubbed his chin, looking uncomfortable. “Aye, well, don’t think much on it. It’s only that we shouldn’t be taking the bike anymore, you not wearing one.”

“Thank you, Sandor, that was very thoughtful.” She glanced up at him, and, willing herself to be brave, stood on her tiptoes to give him a small kiss. 

She could feel his smile against her lips, and his arms wrapped around her slowly. Sansa still held the helmet, so she tried holding his arm, tentatively, as she returned his chaste kisses. It was thrilling to be able to kiss him, let him kiss her, to have him come when she called and be so happy to see her. She felt drunk on it, but not impaired. She felt conscious of every second. Every motion. The feel of his lips, one side smooth and the other side strong.

After a moment Sandor drew back, but he left one hand on Sansa’s shoulder, rubbing her sweater under his thumb as he took her in again. “Seven hells, girl. You look like a goddess.”

“Not the Crone, I hope,” Sansa laughed, deflecting the compliment instinctively, even as she blushed. She knew the insults she’d once been subjected to weren’t the truth, but she wasn’t fully comfortable accepting the opposite. She felt cute enough most days now, but beautiful was something entirely different.

Sandor smiled at her, but it was a little sad, like he knew what she was thinking. “The Maiden,” he insisted softly.

“Then you’re the Warrior,” she responded, watching his reaction carefully. Her hunch had been right: his handsome face changed into stone, as though he would allow her comment without responding to it, certainly without believing it. She raised her eyebrows, and he laughed, but without humor.

It was incredible, how similar they were.

Sansa pulled the helmet on at last, tangling her hair in the process. Sandor’s sure fingers helped her pull it free and adjust the helmet’s fit, checking quickly before finally tapping her on the visor.

“Hey!” she protested, but smiled at him.

He smiled back. “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t until she’d been on his back for a few miles that Sansa realized she’d never asked where they were going. Belatedly, she hoped they weren’t going back to Sandor’s house. She was curious about it, but not ready to decide if she wanted to have sex yet, and was afraid of any expectations that might arise with a bed a few feet away.

Not that she thought Sandor would expect anything, but you never knew. She didn’t have much experience, and what she had was a lot worse than what Sandor had already shown her. She almost felt like the other shoe would drop soon, as soon as she let her guard all the way down. Gradually she stopped feeling the warmth of his back against her cheek, the exhilaration of being on the bike again, moving freely through the night air. Anxiety crept in, and it had almost entirely taken over her thinking before she realized where they were.

The hills of Westeros were renowned for their rolling visas, and one hill in particular was supposed to have the best view of the entire county. Called “The Wall” by locals, it had a massive, craggy rock face. They were winding up the canyon roads, and when Sansa turned her head, she could see the streets of the city turn into rivers, ropes, and then ribbons. The background sounds dropped away and the stars rushed down and her thighs ached from gripping tight.

Sandor pulled over once they’d gone high, high up the hill; her ears had popped, her nose had frozen, and sunset was well upon them. It felt like they were eye-level with a pink and orange swirl, peppered with the shadows of dark clouds.

It was beautiful. Below, an entire valley stretched wide, with smaller hills whisking cars away to hidden cities. Downtown King’s Landing rose up to the left, with its tall buildings, and the bridge where she worked pinned down the winding shape of water to the right. Between, homes and businesses twinkled like tiny stars. “It’s gorgeous,” Sansa sighed, shaking her hair out from the helmet. Sandor had pulled over to a dirt-packed shoulder, where a flat boulder perched at the side of the road, overhanging the cliff and overseeing the city. Sandor took his helmet off, too, and together they perched on the boulder’s broad back. For a moment they were both silent, watching the night come upon the city side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends, how's your week going? longer chapter tomorrow, in which they Talk About Their Issues!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grab your tissues, everybody.

“I like to come up here sometimes,” Sandor said, breaking the silence first. “When I just need to think. It sounded like that’s what you needed.”

“Thank you.” She was quiet again, processing her tangled feelings. She wanted everything to go well with Sandor, but it was becoming clear that for the two of them, that meant honesty about things that were ugly. As much as Sansa didn’t want to share her own story, see Sandor’s eyes fill with pity, she knew deep down that it was necessary to build trust, to show him her true heart and mind. She couldn’t act out a shallow courtship, knowing it wouldn’t lead anywhere without a few difficult conversations.

Worse, she suspected that Sandor’s confident demeanor had been built as a reaction to his life, and she didn’t want to think that he should hide his hardest moments from her, either. Early as it was, she really did want to be someone he could confide in. Selfishly, she even wanted reassurance that she wasn’t the only one who came with some extra baggage. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offered, and she smiled, sadly.  _ Yes I do. _

“I’d like to talk, I just don’t know where to start,” she said simply. He  _ hmm _ ’ed, and went back to his motorcycle for a moment. She watched him stand, stride, squat, and took him in as shamelessly as she could in the dark. His sleek, dark form in his black leather jacket and grey jeans barely stood out from the growing night, but his long hair whipped back and forth and he looked like a commercial, like a paper towel model or a romance novel cover. She stifled a giggle, instead stretching and waiting for him to return.

He came back with a saddlebag that he’d detached from the bike, placing it between them and sweeping his hand over it in invitation. Sansa dove in and found a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, a bottle of pinot grigio, a sleeve of crackers, and a deli container with assorted charcuterie inside. He dug a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and reached for the white wine before hesitating. “I didn’t know what you prefer.”

“Oh, the red actually.” She waited while he opened it and tucked the cork back into his bag. “Thank you.” He handed her the whole bottle, but she just took a sip and cradled it between her knees, not missing a glass at all. They ate for a few minutes, watching the sunset in companionable silence. Sandor looked at her once or twice, but waited for her to speak. Once twilight began shadowing their faces and she’d had a few more sips of the rich wine, Sansa felt comfortable enough to start.

“I haven’t told you everything I should have, I think,” she said, torn between guilt and fear. As soon as she told him everything, that might be it. He would decide she wasn’t worth all of the negatives. But she liked Sandor, and he deserved that choice.

“Remember the crash? How I like… you know?”

“Fainted dead away in the middle of a panic attack, aye.” He was looking right at her now, eyes serious. His scars seemed to gleam faintly in the dying light, contrasting the dark, earthy tones of his eyes and hair. She reached out to touch it, and he let her, dipping his head so she could derive comfort from contact with him. Just as she had that day.

“Well, I… well, my family died in a car accident. Most of them, anyway.”

Sandor’s eyes were wider than she’d seen them so far, but he kept them locked on her. “Most of them?”

“My mom. My brother Rob. My sister, Arya, my only sister. Bran, my other brother. Rickon. My baby brother. Five of them, all of them died.” Her face was wet now, tears she hadn’t consciously wept already down to her chin. She smeared them across her cheeks, blinking through it. She couldn’t just stop and cry every time she spoke their names. She had to speak their names.

“My mom, I look just like her. Her name was Catelyn. She was such an incredible mom, we put her through so much, and she always had so much poise. Rob was in college and so was Bran, even though he was younger than me, he was so smart… Rickon was only eleven. And that’s not even… that’s not even all of them, I mean there was Arya… You would have liked Arya, Sandor. But I didn’t.” Snot was filling her nose now, turning each word into a choked effort. “We fought all the time, and I was so stupid, she was just different than me, but she was amazing. I didn’t even know.”

Sandor had cleared the boulder without looking away from her, opening the space up between them again, silently giving her the option to come closer. She did, sniffing violently, afraid now that she’d started talking that she would never be able to stop. 

“My dad was okay, and I was okay, and my half-brother Jon, well he’s a cousin, but he’s a brother… we weren’t there. But everyone else… I mean, all of them  _ died _ , Sandor. All at once. It was eight years ago, but it feels like yesterday. And everything since then… Jon left, my dad started drinking, I had to move out. He’s okay now, but I had to live with my aunt, and she didn’t give a shit, I mean she didn’t even care about her sister being dead. And I just had to… just get a job. And not just cry about it. But I still cry about it so much. And I  _ miss _ them. And it’s taken me so long to finish school, mostly because my dad drank all the money but honestly, I can barely handle the half load. My whole family just fell apart. And then I was with this douchebag and he pretty much ripped up the rest of me.”

“Here I thought you just had a shitty ex like everyone else,” Sandor said quietly. He was looking at her differently, just as she’d feared, but it wasn’t what she’d expected. He was looking at her now like he’d underestimated her. Like she was something beautiful and strong, a diamond instead of a wilting flower. It was fully dark now, and a thousand more lights had come out to join the rest. He extended his arm slowly, and she realized he was giving her a chance to tuck into his jacket, under his arm. She scooted over, still wiping her face, and just snuggled in for a moment. They were quiet for a beat - well, Sansa was still sniffling a little - but he just rubbed his hand over her shoulder and arm, up and down.

After she’d caught her breath, she continued.

“I did have a shitty ex, and he was the only guy I really dated, if you um. If you know what I mean. And I thought he was so perfect, but he was really, really mean. And scary. And I wasn’t happy or safe with him, but he had me jumping through every horrible hoop just to keep him from becoming upset. He was all I had.”

Sandor’s other arm came around her then. Wrapped in his arms and his jacket, Sansa felt warmed to the bone, though the wind was starting to sing around them. “In the end, he was trying to control everything, and it had just crossed the line into physical-” She paused, as she had visibly felt Sandor stiffen, heard him struggle to regulate his breathing. She felt ashamed, making him have such a reaction, especially when she felt like she hadn’t been telling the whole truth. So she added, quietly, “He only hit me once. It was just getting to a point where I wouldn’t have been able to finish school, or ever leave the house again except on his arm.”

Sandor shook his head, but didn’t say anything. She breathed in and out, willing herself back to calm. He was being nice now, but he’d probably drop her off and never call her again after this. She wouldn’t blame him. In fact, she should probably just let him off the hook, it would be the nicer thing to-

“My brother gave me these scars,” he said, and Sansa was left open-mouthed, shocked into silence. He nodded, seeing her expression, still looking grim from her confessions. “We were kids. I took his toy. He shoved my face into the fireplace, held it there. It wasn’t an accident, and he’s the same way today.”

“He’s still alive? And he doesn’t care that he did that to you?” Tears were back in Sansa’s eyes. Her family had loved her, at least. Would never have hurt her on purpose, even Ned, who had hurt her so much by accident. “Is he in jail?”

“No, little bird. He’s a wealthy man. Famous, even, as a fighter.”

Sansa started crying in earnest again. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. There’s naught in all the world as unfair as life and death.” He held her close again, rocking with her this time as she worked through the hangover of emotion that hung around them. He brushed her hair off of her forehead, where it had escaped from its bobby pins, and kissed the crown of her head. “Sansa, I am so, so sorry for everything you lost. I can’t imagine it. I lost a sister when I was young, and it near killed me. The fact that you’re still standing is nothing less than a miracle. Hell, it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve seen some men do some pretty fucking heroic things.”

They finished the wine in silence, sitting in full dark now. She could still see Sandor’s face a little, illuminated by street lights below, but the blanket of darkness was comforting, naked as she felt now. She was still digesting everything Sandor had told her, and was sure that he was doing the same, but it wasn’t a troubled silence. In fact, she had started to realize that she was actually pretty tired. She voiced that idea, and Sandor agreed, suggesting he return her home. They packed up the saddlebag together, joking lightly about bedtimes - about her being young enough to need one, about him being an old man with a self-instated one, before Sandor helped her put her helmet on again.

“There’s one more thing you don’t know,” he said before they left, surprising her.

“What do you mean?”

“I definitely… didn’t need to go across the bridge a few of the times I saw you. And a few other times you weren’t working.”

Sansa laughed. She still felt heavy, but maybe not as much anymore. “No way.”

“Way. I didn’t even have work, just paid the toll for a chance at seeing the gorgeous creature they kept in that little booth.”

She laughed again, shoving at him. “Thank you for your patronage.”

“You’ve got it,” he promised, settling her onto the motorcycle with two sure hands on her thighs. A thrill went through her, and when he smiled at her, she rose up to kiss him, even though she was sure her face was teary and her makeup was gone. He let her set the pace, parting his lips when she grew bold enough to part hers, his tongue meeting hers as she stood all the way up on her toes to reach him. He leaned down and in, his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer as their kiss became deeper, wetter, hotter - until Sansa felt something move underneath her, and Sandor plucked her off of the ground before the bike tilted and fell completely over.

He’d grabbed her with two enormous hands in time to avoid her being knocked down, and from her new position being held up against him, she stared down at the fallen bike between helpless giggles. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” came his response, against her neck. Immediately a shiver went through Sansa, and she stopped laughing. “You looked so good straddling that seat, girl. One more kiss for the road?”

She gave it to him, lingering even as he set her feet back on the ground. It was hard to stop long enough to let him drive her home, and as they roared smoothly down the hills toward home, she pressed little kisses against the back of Sandor’s jacket. She couldn’t tell if he felt them until the first red light at the foot of the hill, when his hand came down to rest on her knee for a moment. She buried her face against his back, hiding her smile from the universe, in case it saw fit to take it away. She’d never told anyone so much about Joffrey before. Never gone from crying over her family to smiling in such a short time. A part of her wanted to feel guilty, point to that and think of what an awful person she was. Another part of her was proud.  _ Maybe I’m healing. _

All she knew was, she had reached out, and Sandor had responded. She had opened up, and he had shared in return. She had kissed him… and she wanted to see where else they could go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL? souls bared? feelings felt? wine drunken? (don't worry there are only like 4 glasses in a bottle and I'm pretty sure Sandor's BAC isn't impaired unless he drinks like 30, we all know he likes safety mmmkay, everyone drive safe!!)


	17. Chapter 17

The next day Sansa had class and work, and she didn't think she'd have time to talk to Sandor at all, let alone see him. She felt strangely light, though, and found herself taking notes and participating in the class discussion more than ever before. 

After class she grabbed a cozy sweater and a packet she needed to read and headed to the toll booth. She had made Tollhouse cookies as a jokey gift for her boss, in thanks for letting her leave after the accident. Her boss, a weedy but non-threatening guy from the Frey family that had been in charge of the bridge for decades, seemed pleased at the offering. Sansa thanked him again before heading to her booth, where she set herself up with her thermos of tea and reading materials for another day on the job.

Feeling spontaneous, she snapped a few selfies from the booth, angling them so her sweater didn't appear to be dwarfing her. She scrolled through them, made change for customers, applied lipstick, and took a few more photos. Finally she had one where she felt cute, and sent it to Sandor before she could chicken out.

He didn't respond for a few minutes, long enough for her to begin panicking, but eventually she heard her phone chime. 

_ Pretty little bird. _

She sent a smiley face. Then asked,  _ what are you up to? Work? _

There was another pause, and then a picture. 

_ Oh. Oh, wow _ , Sansa thought, her face turning red as she zoomed in a little. He wasn't at work at all. He'd probably just finished a workout, because he was freshly showered, still freckled with water droplets and wearing nothing but a low-slung white towel.

Technically she could only see his torso, but it was enough to set her heart racing, cheeks still aflame. Joffrey was traditionally handsome, with the bones and bearing of a distinguished lineage. But his narrow shoulders, narrow hips, and invisible blonde body hair had never done much to attract Sansa. Their sex life, like every part of her life with him, had been predicated on his petulant wants. She'd never looked at him and felt… this.

_ Desire. _

Sandor had left his face out of the photo, clearly showing her what he was most confident in, and no wonder. Hard-packed muscle defined the shape of his chest and stomach, dark hairs skating across his chest and abs, gathering darkly across his pecs and below the dip of his navel. She could see the gleam of leftover moisture in his clavicle, his collarbone. The towel at the bottom of the frame disappeared into an outward swell, and Sansa had to school her thoughts into a more ladylike fashion, forcing herself to zoom back out again.

She must have been looking for longer than she'd thought. Another text interrupted her view.  _ Too much? _

_ Not enough _ was what she wanted to say, but her thumbs froze in place when she went to respond. She couldn't say that. 

Could she?

She felt closer to Sandor already than she had anyone in a long time. Ever, in this way. She felt like she could be the best version of herself with him, could really explore becoming - whatever the person was he saw her as. Beautiful, like he’d said.

Brave, like he'd said.

_ Not enough. _

This response was immediate.  _ Free tonight? _

When Sansa got home, she ran into her bedroom and started to pull her underwear drawer apart. She wasn't someone who owned lingerie, or even tried to look at herself in the mirror that often, so it quickly became obvious that finding something sexy and lacy was hopeless. She settled for clean and matching, heather grey boyshorts and a t-shirt bra that she could - and she really wasn't thinking about it but she could potentially - sleep in.

She brushed her hair out next, panicking when it wouldn't sit flat. “Dany? Missandei?” She wasn’t sure if anyone was home, but when the girls burst in and found her in her underwear, that answered that question for her.

“What is it?” Missandei asked, making blessed eye contact, while Dany cast her eyes up and down Sansa’s long legs.

“We’re monogamous, you know, so I hope you didn’t call us in to seduce us,” she added, sounding sorry about it. Missandei elbowed her. 

“Shut up, Daenerys. Getting ready for a date, Sansa?”

Sansa, bright red and already moving to tie her robe around her waist, nodded. “I was just wondering - my hair -”

“On it,” Dany nodded, moving around Sansa to drag the chair from her vanity out. “Sit!” Sansa sat, still embarrassed, but letting Dany set to work on her hair. Missandei disappeared for a moment, reappearing with an armload of clothing from her and Margaery’s rooms, trailed by a complaining Margaery.

“Ooh, gang’s all here,” Margaery cooed, dropping onto the bed. She offered wildly unhelpful commentary on every dress Missandei held up, until she got too restless and jumped back up again with an “honestly, she’ll never be ready at this pace,” and before Sansa knew it she had an army of stylists.

Sansa wound up in a deceptively comfortable peach wrap dress, which hit perfectly at the waist, turning Sansa’s long torso into an hourglass shape. They wrapped her in a leather jacket and deposited her into suede motorcycle boots, but when Margaery reached for Sansa’s jewelry box, Sansa stopped her. “Wait, I know which necklace I want to wear.”

She picked out a simple gold chain with a heart locket, one that had been her mother’s, and let Missandei fasten it carefully at the nape of her neck. Margaery insisted on picking out the rest of her jewelry, but when Sansa looked at the results in the mirror, she didn’t see her friends’ taste. She saw herself, at her best. It really was miraculous - she knew, abstractly, she she wasn’t unattractive, but it had never really mattered. After Joffrey, it almost seemed like a curse, like she would never have caught his eye without her mother’s looks. But now she looked at the woman in the mirror, her braided hair catching the light, her eyes lined in smoke… and thought she was truly beautiful.

“Thanks, you guys,” she whispered, emotional. Missandei squeezed her shoulder, but Dany only rolled her eyes.

“Obviously we’re going to help you, Sansa, gods.”

“Help you get laid,” Margaery added, surprisingly astute for the only one who hadn’t seen Sansa’s matching underthings.

Sansa took a deep breath - in, then out. She grabbed her helmet… and there was a knock on the door.

It turned out she hadn’t seen Sandor’s text, so he’d come to knock. He had to duck his head to enter, and Margaery (who’d opened the door), turned around to mouth “holy shit” to the others behind his back.

“Hey, Sandor!” Sansa chirped, feeling like a silly little bird but relying on her courtesies to see her through the awkward moments in life, as always. “I’m ready, we can go.” She held up the helmet as proof, but he was too busy staring at her.

His look burned through her. She could tell that he was taking her in, as she’d taken herself in, and his appreciation was obvious. As good as she had felt looking in the mirror, this was a thousand times that. Now she felt…seen. Wanted. 

A little bit red, as her roommates gathered and gawked.

Sandor reacted first, seeming to shake himself before turning to Margaery, the closest to him. “Sandor,” he rumbled, reaching out a hand.

“Margaery,” she purred, shaking his hand with both of hers so that her arms squeezed her chest together. “My, what… scars you have.”

Sandor barked out a laugh even as Sansa hissed Margaery’s name, horrified. “Aye, I have.”

“Ignore her, she’s more hair than brains,” Dany said, stepping into shake his hand next. Sansa could tell that she was trying to crush Sandor’s hand, though the attempt was comical. “Daenerys Targaryen. My girlfriend Andei.”

Missandei waved. “Missandei, actually, but call me whatever.”

“Except Missy,” Sandor guessed, and Missandei grinned.

“Yup.”

Sandor complimented their apartment, but he clearly didn’t fit in it, and for all his manners Sansa could tell he was ready to be alone with her. So, with her roommates giving her totally obvious thumbs-ups that Sandor politely pretended not to see, they headed out together.


	18. Chapter 18

Sansa was starting to be more comfortable on the motorcycle now, and she looked around happily as Sandor steered them. The dress whipped against her in the wind and everyone in the cars they passed looked like they were crawling. The braid Dany had given her protected her hair from the worst of the motion, and by the time she started worrying about it, Sandor had left the main streets and was winding up into the foothills with her. He turned, turned again, and followed a street that stopped being paved about halfway uphill.

Then they turned the last corner, and there they were. At the end of its own little lane, a lowslung house made of dark wood and brick seemed to grow from its surroundings. A wide porch wrapped around the front and to the side, where Sansa could see a single rocking chair that faced out toward the trees that hugged the perimeter of the property. All it was missing was a dog, smoke from the chimney. A second rocking chair.

Sansa dismounted, shaking her hair out to ensure it wasn’t a windswept snarl. She checked her bag to make sure everything was in place - her phone screen was still scrolling with texts from her roommates, Margaery seemingly still freaking out about Sandor’s size and looks, with Dany demanding Sansa let her know when they did the deed, Missandei sending blanket apologies for the other two. She ignored all of them.

“Your house is beautiful,” she said instead, keeping pace with Sandor as he walked the bike into the carport where his truck sat. He rested it to one side, wiped his hands on his jeans, and hung their helmets up quickly. Hers looked good, hanging up there next to his.

“You’re beautiful,” he countered, reaching for her once his hands were free. “That dress, little bird, gods. I wanted to eat you alive in front of all those roommates you’ve got.”

“Sorry about them,” she said again, like she had the whole way from her door to the bike. “They’re just a little overprotective. Except Margaery, she’s just…”

He snorted a laugh, now flipping through his keys as they approached the front door. Sansa turned around from the porch to see the view: it wasn’t much, as the trees swallowed up everything beyond the road, but what she saw was peaceful. There was a green-framed window straight to the sky, and the scent of earth, and a lingering moisture from the forest that set her inhaling deeply.

Sandor turned to smile at her over his shoulder as he popped the door open. “Welcome home.”

She didn’t question the way he said it. It did feel like home instantly, as soon as she set foot in the doorway. It was open-concept, like he’d ripped down all the walls that separated the kitchen and living room, creating a large open area with wood beams and blue walls. She wasn’t surprised that his tastes ran toward worn-in leather and dark wood, that the fireplace was a real brick one complete with scorch marks, that the one wall on the far side that hid (she assumed) a bathroom and bedroom wanted for some colorful art. It felt so Sandor, so immediately, that she felt like she knew him a few degrees better just for being in the room.

He helped her take her coat off and went to start a fire, leaving her to wander through the room. She walked the kitchen, noting that the fridge held more reminders than personal effects. She trailed her fingers over the enormous butcher block that sat across from it, staring into the mirror that sat above the fireplace across the room. Sandor’s shoulders bumped up and down in the bottom of its the reflection, as he poked and prodded and softly cussed at the flames he was babying, but she could see herself as well. From far away like this, she looked like a whole, normal person. She looked like she knew what she was doing there, like she was confident in any which way this night would go. It was like a magic mirror, displaying a better version of what she felt, imbuing her with better feelings. She liked seeing herself surrounded by his things, she realized. When he straightened up at last and caught her eye in the reflection, she discovered that she liked seeing herself beside him even more.

Sandor dug a small remote out from between his couch cushions and started some music, the low sound of oldies mingling with the crackle of flames, adding a blanket of aural comfort that Sansa relaxed further into. He nodded at the fridge as he came back toward her, and she opened it up, Sandor fitting himself neatly against her back and tucking her head underneath his chin as he looked with her.

It turned out that he had just been shopping, and it was quietly thrilling to see that he’d given some thought to options she might like: she noticed, for one thing, that he'd picked up three types of tea. They built pizzas together, making two little ones and a third they threw random things onto just for fun. Sandor offered her whiskey, and when she declined, didn’t have one either. She felt drunk enough, just touching fingers over toppings, leaning against his chest as they chopped mushrooms. When the pizza went in the oven, he leaned back against the countertop, pulling her gently into his chest. They made out lazily, slowly, his hands rubbing circles on her hips until she was utterly out of breath.

She only broke away when the press of their bodies gave away his erection. He seemed content to ignore it, but Sansa drew back, fighting panic. “Could I use your restroom?” she asked, hoping she sounded normal.

“Sansa-” he cut himself off, sounding regretful, and she hated herself instantly for making him feel like he was in the wrong. He rubbed his chin, but added “you know we don’t have to do anything,” looking her in the eyes to make sure she heard him. She offered him a weak smile, not sure how to respond.

“Of course, I just, um. I just have to pee.”

He nodded and stood up straight, walking her through the back wall’s doorway and pointing left. She found herself in a short hallway that backed up to the rear wall of the house, windows overlooking a small yard. To her left, the bathroom beckoned, clean and crisp subway tile visible beyond the door. But with a peek over her shoulder to ensure that Sandor had gone back to the oven, Sansa went right.

His bedroom was bigger than she’d thought: it had to be, considering the size of the bed she found inside. A lofted ceiling lifted up above her, and a windowed alcove on the far wall hosted a reading nook big enough for even Sandor. It was warmer in this room than the others, rich rugs overlapping each other on the floor. She bit her lip as she took in the bed. It was rumpled, which comforted her a little, as it seemed to indicate that he hadn’t planned on bringing her into it. She reached out and touched the mattress: soft, springy, not so scary at all.

“Pizza’s ready.” She turned around to see Sandor behind her in the doorway, leaning casually without any indication that he was surprised or upset to find her in his bedroom.

“Oh, thank you.” She turned toward him, but he didn’t move to go, and neither did she. The moment stretched on and on, Sandor before her, the bed behind. She couldn’t look away from him, the lean of his body against the doorframe, the intensity of his grey eyes.

Later she wouldn’t remember who moved forward first. She only remembered his arms coming up around her as they fell into each other, the feeling of being lifted up and up before being lowered, down and down into the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the evil cliffhanger! Here's a preview from the next chapter to whet your appetite:
> 
> Sandor made a sound like a strangled groan and wrapped his arms around her. She was being whisked up, tucked up against the pillows at the top of the bed, before she knew it. He pressed her back against them with kisses, and even though she met him as well as she could, she still felt like she was being swallowed in the best way possible.
> 
>  
> 
> OKAY BYE I LOVE YOU


	19. Chapter 19

There was this moment when Sansa was reading a good book where she wanted to stop. Where she got so fully engrossed, so into the story that she never wanted it to end, didn't want to even read another word lest the rest of that world slip away.

Kissing Sandor was like that. Every moment was like cool water to a drought, like a light in the darkness. The press of his body against her was the sweetest thing she'd ever known, solid and grounding and perfect.

They'd barely made it onto the bed, their legs still tangled off the side, Sansa's foot still on the floor. And yet she felt like she'd been swept up in a storm already, her skin on fire where his arm was curled around her back. She was pins and needles all over, mind reeling, drunk on touch. When he pulled away, she nearly whined, reaching back toward him. 

“Little bird, are you sure?” He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking in an absent way as he searched her eyes. She looked into his, finding a steady path in their foggy depths. All her doubts, her worries had disappeared. Sandor wanted her. He thought she was worth wanting. She wanted him, but just as much, she wanted to give him what he wanted. Wanted to give him herself, and pray to all seven gods that it was what he needed.

She nodded up at him, not trusting herself to speak, and reached up. She tucked his hair behind his ear, seeing for the first time how it was patched together and burnt. Sighing gently, she ran her hand down his cheek, fingertips catching against the scar-roughened skin. His eyes bore into her, unflinching. She wondered at him, at seeing in his eyes how this was meaningful for him, too. It seemed so unlikely, so lucky. Half of her still couldn’t understand how he’d been unlucky in love. The other half rejoiced at having him deliver himself so wholly, trustingly into her hands. She felt balanced instead of lost to him - maybe a little lost, but with enough of Sandor to make up the difference. Sansa followed her hand up, lifting up at an awkward angle to kiss him again. She was half bent backward, wildly uncomfortable, but unable to resist meeting his lips with her own.

Sandor made a sound like a strangled groan and wrapped his arms around her. She was being whisked up, tucked up against the pillows at the top of the bed, before she knew it. He pressed her back against them with kisses, and even though she met him as well as she could, she still felt like she was being swallowed in the best way possible.

He drew back, running his arms down her sides. “My pretty girl. Just lay back.” She smiled and snuggled back, marveling up at him as he watched his hands, his fingers slipping the tie of her wrap dress undone. He drew it open slowly, and it was like watching a man receiving an incredible gift, finding something he’d always wanted inside. For the first time, she could truly see that he wasn’t confident here, not in his motions but in the strain of his jaw, the uneven way he was breathing. 

“You’re okay?” he confirmed again, his hands coming up her waist to grip her ribs lightly. He looked at her while he asked, rubbing his thumbs over her bra, somehow dragging his blunt nails across her nipples without looking. Sansa shivered, slow thrills shooting tendrils of electric sparks down her spine.

“I’m good. Really good.” He nodded, lowering his face to her neck and kissing the skin there, nipping her a little to get her to jump before tugging her dress down her arms. The bristles on his face felt different than anything she’d imagined: they scraped without scratching, sending her senses tingling in their wake. She brushed her hand down his beard, toward his chest, and found that he was still fully dressed. “Your turn?”

“My t- oh.” He shrugged his shirt off, and her view from underneath him was incredible. Rising up above her, he was like a solid wall of muscle and scars and hair and… muscles. Her hands flew up toward his torso without her thinking about it: suddenly all she wanted to do was touch, feel what she’d never thought a man could truly feel like before. He quirked an eyebrow at her, questioning, and she blushed a little. “You’re even better than your picture.”

Now Sandor blushed, and it was a delight to see. His face was too dark from the sun and the wind to redden as much as hers did, but she could see the warm cast to it, and it tickled her to the soul. It was her turn to laugh, and he finally laughed with her, tossing his shirt to the floor and standing up to strip his pants off. “I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed. As his pants came down, the humor left the room a little. Sansa sat up, forcing herself not to cover her body on instinct.

“I’m glad it did,” she said, trying for - if not a sexy smirk - at least a smile that bordered on confident. He reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs and paused, giving Sansa a chance to see the way he was already straining the fabric. Finally, everything she’d been missing in the photo was revealed to her, from the arc of his neck to the thick barrel of his dick.

She reached for her own bra, but he came back to her, kissing her again and taking over for her. He unhooked her bra and drew it down her shoulders, palming her breasts as he slid his hands by. Next he stripped her of her panties, running his fingertips back up her legs and thighs and up to her hips, making her gasp into his mouth. 

It was a scary, honest feeling being naked together. He gave her a minute to get used to it, doing his best to cover her with kisses in the meantime. His beard scraped over her stomach, making her giggle, and her thighs, making her sigh. Once she felt so relaxed she thought she might fall asleep there, open and unafraid, she felt his mouth find her. 

Sansa’s muscles tensed, and she nearly shut her thighs on sheet instinct, but Sandor’s stroking hand soothed the instinct. His tongue worked against her, moving over her slickly, firmly, chased by the friction-rub of his mustache and beard. It should have itched but it burned instead, burned like the perfect song or a good cry. She didn't recognize the noises she was making, but they mingled with Sandor’s obscene sounds, twisting her thoughts and forcing her eyes shut.

Normally Sansa was afraid to shut her eyes, scared of the way that nightmares and horrible memories followed. But now the darkness was a sweet, enveloping space, where her feelings and reactions expanded out and out, sweeping into every atom. She got lost there, pulled to and fro by pleasured waters, until it was too much and everything at once and she couldn't stand it, didn't want it to stop, opened her eyes -

“Sandor-” she gasped, and he looked up at her, not stopping, not pausing, and she pulsed and crashed against him.

He gave her a moment to come down, nuzzling into her hip for a moment before sliding back up her overheated body. He kissed her temple, his body engulfing hers as they leaned into each other.

“You okay?” he asked again, softer now. She thought she heard a smile in it - she was obviously okay. More than okay.

“Mmph,” was all she managed, putting her palm against his chest. “Mm-hmm.”

He laughed then, dipping his face toward hers so his hair brushed her forehead. He brushed her hair back from where sweat had stuck it to her forehead, his eyes bright and happy as he took her in. She smiled lazily back, wondering why she didn’t feel more shy. Any time Joffrey had done anything for her in bed he’d complained until she hated it, bargained and bullied until he’d been paid back a thousand times over. He’d- 

She stopped herself, consciously, from comparison. There was no comparison, that was all. Sandor was everything she’d been waiting for. That was all.

Feeling brave, she tilted her chin up to him, landing a kiss on his jaw that sent him humming. He rolled onto her, propping himself up on flexed forearms that she ran her hands up, up, up to his shoulders - one freckled, one scarred. She kept kissing what she could reach of him: his throat, his collar, even his furry chest. He hummed, nosing back against her. Gradually, as she came back into her body, she became aware of him against her stomach, the long, hard press of him.

Wordlessly, she settled back further, cradling him between her legs. Sansa drew her knees apart, biting her lip at the contact, and nodded when he fit his eyes back to hers. It was the work of a second for him to reach past her for a condom from his nightstand, his hands disappearing between them, though she could hardly wait. And then he tilted his forehead back into hers, grey eyes locked on blue as he pushed into her for the first time.

Sansa gasped so loudly that Sandor’s low curse was lost. He’d overwhelmed her with one motion, and when he moved slowly forward, she realized that it wasn’t even over. Her body cried out, then calmed, then began to build toward a different type of cry. She felt drowned, lost, saved, found. Her eyes watered, but not in pain, and when he began to move in earnest a tear slipped away, streaking downward and getting lost in her hair. Sandor followed it with his lips, kissing it away, kissing her face blindly, his arms already shaking.

Together they arched, dipped, converged. Sansa tried to hide her face against his arm, but he sought her out, kissing her until she could taste them both on his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, ran down his back, and finally came back up to clutch his shoulders. It was all she could do to hold on, to meet his body, to not die of happiness right there underneath him. Sandor’s kisses, his hands, his cock filled every empty place inside of her, making her feel entirely whole for the first moment in years.

When he came, she followed, surprised by the punch of it, the way she seemed to unlatch inside, just as boneless as she was breathless. He clung to her, not moving for long minutes, and she stroked his back slowly. Spent as he was like this, in her and on her, she felt like she could finally hold Sandor the way he held her. With her arms wrapped around him, their breath still mingling in pants, she could rest her cheek against his head and finally, finally, feel totally at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp.


	20. Chapter 20

They ate their pizza in bed. The third one they’d thrown together turned out disgusting, and Sansa shrieked as Sandor tried to feed it to her. He ate it instead, making her gag and laugh and push at his chest as he chomped it down, grinning at her. 

“We’re dating now, right?” she asked, trying for casual as he tried his best to brush crumbs off of the sheets.

“Been dating,” he answered, looking confused for a moment, before his expression cleared. “Ah, I see. The little bird wants a hound of her own, is that it?” She blushed, but he reached for her, tickling her until she laughed and knew he was teasing. “I’d love that,” he confirmed, stilling his hands on her at last. He looked a little stunned, but pleased, and she ran her hands down his chest just to feel him. “It’s more than I expected.”

“Oh,” she said, puzzled. They were still mostly naked, her wearing her panties and one of his shirts, him in a fresh pair of boxer briefs. “What did you expect?”

“Expect? Nothing.” He tugged her - his - shirt, bringing her close enough to kiss. Instead of kissing her, though, he took her in, his eyes calmer and steadier than she’d ever seen before. “Want? Everything.”

Sansa’s heart clenched down, holding tight to his words, his awed expression. They studied each other for another long minute. Her lover. Her boyfriend. Her Sandor. And more than that, she was his now, and it felt like the only thing she'd wanted in a long, long time.

They curled together to sleep once Sandor extinguished the fire they’d left in the other room, and his bedroom was warm and cozy from the heat of it and them combined. She really did feel like a little bird, curled in a nest of his arms and his plush, enormous bed. 

_ Amidst the crush of cars, she could hear her mother screaming. The cars themselves were tangled beyond repair, seemingly one twisted thing instead of separate vehicles. Catelyn screamed and screamed, her horror ripping the sky apart, the burnt metal and rubber smell choking Sansa where she floated, unable to run toward that horrible sound. _

_ Because she was the only one screaming.  _

_ Rescuers crowded the wreck, shouting and pulling and wrenching, but Catelyn’s anguish drowned them out, hysteria and physical pain nothing to the sheer lack of sound coming from Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon. Not a one of their voices could be heard, not a cry or a wail or one of Arya’s favorite curses. Just spinning, reeling silence, and Catelyn’s howls. They choked into sobs as Sansa fought, fought to get to her, unable to move an inch. And then they stopped, and everything was quiet. _

_ Everyone was gone. _

Sansa woke with a strangled sound. For a moment she had no idea where she was, and she half-choked on her gasp, feeling trapped and scared in a room she didn’t recognize in the dark.

“Sansa?” She started violently, drawing away from the voice before her consciousness kicked in and she realized it was him. Sandor. She pitched forward instead, burying herself in his chest as his arms went around her. He held her tight, sweaty as she was, while she cried and cried. She hadn’t had this dream before. They’d never been nearly so graphic, so horrible, about her family. This had felt real, like she could smell and sense the wreck right in front of her. When she stopped to choke back her tears, she realized Sandor was making soft shushing sounds, soothing her in time to his strokes against her back. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, though she knew she was salty and sour with fear. “Nightmare?”

She nodded, drew in a shaky breath, nodded again. She could barely see him in the darkness of the night, but she drew strength from what she could see: the profile of his strong nose, the glint of his concerned eyes. “They’re not usually so bad. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered back, sounding heartsick. “New beds always do that to me, too. I should have left a light on or something. Do you want to talk about it?” He sat up and fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No, wait. You have nightmares too?” Of course he did, the things he’d seen. It just hadn’t occurred to her that he might share in the terror that made her afraid to sleep some nights. “Are yours… about your brother?”

He twisted his mouth, now stroking back the hair stuck with sweat to her forehead. “Aye, and about some of the things I’ve seen. It’s okay, girl. I don’t think anyone could live so close to death and move on without some nightmares.”

She sighed, closing her eyes and letting his attentions soothe her. “I just hate it. I hate my imagination, my memories.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a moment, and had nearly soothed her back to sleep when he added, “I can’t erase those… but I’ll give you enough happy memories to crowd them out, if you let me.”

She almost cried. His words were sweet, but more than that, he meant it. She could see that. Could see a future stretching forward with more than she’d imagined.

“I'd like that,” she said finally. “I'd like to do the same for you. And… I’m sorry I got your sheets gross.”

His laugh was warm and genuine. “We were sweating earlier, too, lass. I'm probably the grosser one.”

She didn't agree, but pulled him up anyway so they could shower.

They kept the lights low, not wanting to interrupt the cocoon of night for anything. He ran the taps hot, and they took turns standing under the stream of water. He took his time scrubbing soap over her body, clearly appreciating her with his hands, and she did the same with the parts of him she could reach. It felt good to rub the nightmares away, to replace the lingering ghost of burnt rubber with Sandor's woodsy body wash. It felt like he was wrapping her in his scent, gathering her in a warm, safe, blanket of masculinity. Whether from his attentions or the warm water, by the time they were clean again she felt calmer, steadier.

Sansa admired him openly as he tilted his face into the spray to rinse off, the body he worked so hard for solid-packed, long, and lean. His impossibly wide shoulders, the dip of his hips, the compact muscle of his legs and ass. Water sluiced down his defined stomach, gathering in the darkened hair there and running down the trail on his stomach to his groin. It didn't look as big as it had felt before, but even at rest, his cock was still in perfect proportion to the rest of his enormous frame.

Tentatively, she reached for it. It was still new, touching him freely, but she wanted to start. To know his body like hers, not just in a sexual way but in an intimate, close one. This was a good place to start, it seemed, because he turned toward her. The water still streamed over him, his eyes intense as his hair flattened around his face. She marveled at the reactions he gave her, his eyes flaring as he let her take him into her hands.

They drew closer, chests and foreheads pressed together until her hand was trapped between them. He kissed her then, and warm water slid through her mouth along with his tongue. He pressed her carefully against the tile, and she made a noise when her shoulder found its cool surface. The contrast of its coolness and the heat of Sandor and the shower had her spinning, senses dizzying and disparate all together.

His hands were searching her, smoothing over her, and when his arms wrapped around her it took a moment to realize she was being lifted, wrapped up as she was in sensation. He nestled her against him, and she held onto his waist with her legs out of sheer instinct, though she knew he'd never drop her. He took his time kissing her where she was deliciously trapped up against him, his cockhead pressed against the center of her, making her wiggle her hips toward him in a most unladylike fashion.

His chuckle echoed around them, and when he finally drove upward, so did her cries. Pinned by his arms and his dick and her own pleasure-driven immobility, it was all she could do to hang on. She pressed her face into his neck, letting him take her where he would, focused only on the place they were joined. His fingers found her then, working between them, coaxing her closer and closer toward the swirling thing approaching. She realized she was biting his shoulder and let go, kissing it in apology, half-mindless. He moaned with her when she swiped her tongue over it, shifting her in his arms and changing the angle of their coupling so that she was being driven up and down against his fingers, up and down on his cock.

She came undone so suddenly that she melted in his arms, nearly collapsing against his chest. He simply shifted her, cradling her against his himself, and she held on tight.

He let her slip down his body and spent himself into the swirling waters at the bottom of the tub. They stayed under the spray for a moment, coming down. Sansa kissed his cheek; Sandor kissed her head.

He bundled her into a huge grey towel, rubbing her dry until she giggled and tried to escape. He swooped her up then, carrying her to the bed and depositing her in it, towel and all. “I can walk, you know,” she teased, but she secretly loved it. She had been tall since sixth grade, and had never really thought she'd date someone so prone to carrying her around - never really thought someone would be big enough, strong enough that they could.

“It's those hollow bird bones,” he teased back, his voice rough and rumbling. She hoped it was from exhaustion, that she'd worn him out. “You're lighter than air.”

She laughed and reached up. He tucked them in together, both of them tossing towels onto the wood floor in favor of curling up naked under the sheets.

She tucked into his arms, feeling like she was under an electric blanket, inside and out. Their legs tangled together, and Sansa ran her fingers over his arm hair, looking up at him. He kissed her again, slow and soft.

This time, she slept through the night, without a single dream. She simply slept, warm and secure in the knowledge that she was safe in Sandor's embrace.


	21. Chapter 21

Sansa floated through the next day. From Old English Narrative to Lyric Poetry to Verse Romance to Middle English Drama, she tore through her work with an enthusiasm that was in direct contrast to the way she usually struggled to school her swirling thoughts.

From the computer lab, she wrote an entire draft of her essay and was halfway through outlining her next one before pausing for lunch. She'd woken up late in Sandor's bed, tangled hopelessly and deliciously against a Sandor who had been very happy to see her. It had taken them too long to get out of bed for her to have breakfast, so she was actually starving.

A quick text later, Sansa met Missandei at the grassy quad between the Language and Lit buildings. They walked together to the food truck that always parked nearby, a trendy empanada spot that was run by someone Arya had been in school with. It was strange to see how old Hot Pie was now, to think of her forever-little sister alive and the same age, but today it just made Sansa smile to think of an older, wilder Arya.

They didn't chat about anything in particular, mostly catching up on classes from the bench they were eating on. It was tucked into a corner of the campus, in a quieter area with a sapling heart tree. Seeing it made Sansa think of her pond visit with Sandor. Blushing, she confessed to Missandei what the other girl had guessed but been too polite to ask. It was nice to talk to Missandei about being with Sandor, because she delighted along with Sansa without asking for any details like Dany might, and Margaery definitely would. Sansa wasn't one to discuss her sex or even love life in public, but simply confirming their existence felt amazing. Felt healthy. They never really talked about it, as the girls knew to give her space, but she was sure they heard her nightmares sometimes. Missandei seemed genuinely happy for her, in a way that was more than casual. It was like Sansa had been projecting her hurt more than she realized, too wrapped up in hurting to do a good enough job of acting okay. The thought rankled, but Sansa decided not to dwell on it too much. 

After lunch she went back to the computer lab, full and happy and ready to contact Sandor. He was at work again, so she wasn't expecting a response, but she sent him a short greeting anyway. When he didn't answer as quickly as he usually did, she typed his name into the computer.

The first thing to come up was his professional headshot, which looked frankly forward at the camera. It was odd to see him dressed up, even from the shoulders up, but she still smiled to see his solemn face. She loved knowing that she could make those serious eyes light up with a smile, that she'd had that same face snuggled into her shoulder that morning, had that face between her thighs last night. She didn't see the scars anymore, not until she'd already taken in those eyes, the quirk of his mouth that lifted into mirth and dropped back down into seriousness. If the scars were the ugliest things about him, she still thought he was the best, the handsomest man she'd ever met.

She hadn't even added Sandor on Facebook yet, and when she tabbed over she wasn't surprised to see that he had a minimal profile, most of his photos from group shots he'd been tagged in. His profile picture was the same gym shot, which made her imagine that he'd been forced to set up the page for work. She clicked around for a while to see if she could uncover any ex-girlfriends, frowning to herself as she remembered his stories. Luckily, he didn't have any glaring red flags or gorgeous exes to be found, and she added him with one decisive click.

He accepted at the same time her phone lit with a text.  _ Friends now? _

_ Sounds like a downgrade _ she responded, smiling a little to think that he was her  _ boyfriend _ . It seemed like such a silly word, but it still warmed her inside out.

_ Good point.  _ A second later, a relationship request popped up on her screen. She laughed aloud, and was shushed by another student. Chagrined, Sansa settled for grinning at her screen like an idiot. She accepted it and marveled at having Sandor's face on her profile. 

_ Now it's official! _ she joked to him, feeling light.

_ One step toward being that old married couple _ he joked back, which made her stomach do a funny flip.

Instead of telling him that, though, she settled for  _ that was a great date _ .

_ I was thinking maybe next we go to a real restaurant. Not a diner or breakfast spot. Then maybe head back to the hills? I can pack the truck bed with blankets if you like stars. _

Sansa sighed happily. Was every day going to be like this, with something to look forward to with Sandor? She certainly hoped so.  _ I would love that _ , she answered, feeling lighter than air.

_ It’s a date _ , said the next text, followed by  _ Lunch over, gotta head back in. See you tonight?. _

She confirmed then slipped her phone back into her bag. She was determined to finish the second half of her outline, but her mind kept wandering back to Sandor. Would they have sex again? She thought maybe not, after last night - and that morning - but a part of her couldn't wait to. She'd never felt that way, but then, she'd never been made to feel the way she did with Sandor. Satiated, safe, adored. She'd be happy just talking, though. They still had to much to learn about each other, and she couldn't wait to know it all. 

When her phone went off again, she reached for it quickly, assuming Sandor had extended his lunch break. Until she saw it, of course, recognizing the words before her eyes even landed on the name. Words she knew would never come from Sandor. Words that could only have come from Joffrey.

_ Damn you've really fallen, huh? Nice new boyfriend, where's his face? _

She wasn't friends with him online, didn't even recognize the number texting her, but of course it was him. Sansa's mood plummeted, falling hard and fast from where it had been a moment before.

Why now? Why, after years, was he showing up at every turn again? Just when she had Sandor and some happiness again, Joffrey appeared like a phantom to terrorize her life. She'd practically been in a fugue state when they dated, so depressed and downtrodden, and she could feel that version of herself returning as his words sunk in.

She didn't respond, but another text came through anyway.

_ you're obviously still fucked up in the head Sansa. It was probably a matter of time anyway. No idea why you bother, you clearly went fucking crazy like your dad did. _

And another, right behind that one.

_ even for a whore you could do better. It's honestly embarrassing I ever fucked you. I can buy and sell this town, you're too stupid to even slut around for a guy without half his fucking face burned off, he looks like half a man. lol you deserve each other. _

Sansa sat blindly, staring at her phone without really seeing it anymore. She felt cold all over. She wanted to be mad, indignant on Sandor's behalf, her dad’s, if not her own. But she was just… defeated. Weakened. It seemed like every time she was having a good time, guilt or a stray thought about Rickon pulled her back down, and this time it was Joffrey actively clawing her back to the bottom. Her computer went to sleep, ignored, and she pulled it back to life to shut down her session. She packed up her bags in a haze, then left the lab as quickly as she could walk without running.

She made it home without remembering how she got there, found her bed and retreated into it without answering Dany’s greeting. Her bed didn’t seem like the place to retreat to, suddenly, having woken up in one that was far warmer, far bigger, far more welcoming.  _ Shit.  _ Sandor was still supposed to pick her up later. She groaned and dig her phone out, afraid of seeing any new texts, but the screen was blessedly clear.

She didn't have any energy for figuring out what to say, and simply typed out  _ Can't do tonight. _ before hitting send.

She could hear Sandor's response, and then another text, and a while later another, but she didn't check them. She just laid back, stared at the ceiling, and let herself sink into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry things couldn’t be happy forever, it would be over already :p
> 
> also an announcement: I'm going to Hawaii for my birthday this weekend and will be gone for a week! this means Takes Its Toll will likely pause, since my SO/fam doesn't know I write fanfic lolollll plus I'll be on a beach!
> 
> so: would you guys rather I update infrequently during the trip (and maybe not update Tumblr), skip a week and complete updates afterward, or totally just dump the rest of the fic onto AO3 before Friday? I haven’t written an epilogue yet so that will still be afterward. Please tell me what to do because I rely on you guys for everything. Love you byeee


	22. Chapter 22

It might have been minutes or hours later when she heard the front door open. The light had disappeared in her bedroom, which made her think it was late, but time had stopped really existing for Sansa. She was stuck, mired in a negative loop of thinking that went from  _ obviously still fucked up in the head  _ to _ clearly went fucking crazy  _ to _ no idea why you bother. _

When she heard Sandor’s low rumble answering Dany’s airy one from the living room, she stirred. He’d come over? She reached for her phone, seeing now that he’d accepted her excuse, then asked if she wanted to reschedule, then asked if she was okay when she hadn’t responded. He’d texted again a few hours later, and apparently her lack of response had freaked him out enough to come over.

Ugh. She felt ashamed somehow, that he would sense her weakness, that she would even let Joffrey get to her. This should have been a great day, and instead she’d worried Sandor, cutting off any post-coital bliss he might have felt. Forget about what Sansa felt - at this point, she didn’t think that was important. She just wanted to wallow in it, that was all.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, and Sansa stuffed her phone under her pillow before sitting up a little. “Come in.”

Sandor had to duck a little to get into her bedroom, and her heart lifted to see him. “Sansa. What happened?” He sat on the foot of her bed as gently as he could and reached out, leaving it up to her how close she would get. She wanted to curl up to him, but also wanted to see his eyes, so she reached out to take his hand. He immediately took the hand she’d offered in his other as well, folding it into a warm embrace between his palms.

“It’s stupid.” She struggled all the way up, sitting facing him. It was tempting, now that he was here, to sink against him and try to use his body to block out her internal monologue. She owed him honesty, though, and reminded herself of words like  _ trust _ and  _ boyfriend _ while she gathered her thoughts.

“Do you… regret things?” His voice was careful, but she could tell what he meant at once, and felt even worse for it.

“No, Sandor, of course not.” She squeezed his hand, but knew she couldn’t just excuse herself without explaining. “I had a great time last night, I just-”

“Did you have a panic attack?” Bizarrely, he pulled his hand off of hers to feel her forehead, and she almost laughed at his fluttering concern, but it warmed her too much for mirth. She pulled his hand down, held it again. 

“No, I just had a text from my old boyfriend.” She saw his face twist in confusion, so she sighed, pulling her phone out of hiding. “Here.”

Sandor was quiet while he scrolled, and to calm her nerves, Sansa watched his hair slide slowly down his shoulder as he read. She could tell when he'd finished just from the way his shoulders set, and when she looked back at his face, his expression had set too. She'd expected him to react the way he had to everything so far, with calm and understanding and maybe some kisses.

So it shocked her when his body language changed entirely. He sat up, anger vibrating off of him in a physical wave. She was suddenly unsure. There hadn’t been any real sign that Sandor had an angry side - maybe when she’d first told him about Joffrey, maybe a little when they’d talked about his brother… and this was something that she wished she could be angry about instead of broken up over, but. Sandor’s mood shift had pulled the air out of the room. He stood, sat down, stood again and tossed the phone down onto the bed next to her. He started pacing, and Sansa pulled her knees up to her chest, watching him fearfully.

“Sandor?”

He shook his head, dark hair whipping around as he filled the room with his anger. His size was suddenly overwhelming, and Sansa fought panic as she watched him. He turned toward her, looking despairing, as she met his gaze.

He opened his mouth as though to speak, but shut it again, turning away and punching the wall instead. Sansa couldn’t help it - she shrieked - so taken aback by the booming sound and his sudden anger. There was a sound outside the room like someone had dropped something, and Dany came running into the room.

“What happen- get out.” She rounded on Sandor once she saw the hole in the wall, Sansa curled up on the bed. “Go, get the fuck out.”

“I-” Sandor looked from Dany to Sansa, the despairing expression back on his face. He looked as broken as Sansa now, hangdog and self-hating. She wanted to go to him, but he was already moving to obey Dany’s fiery demands. She was even shepherding him with her much smaller body, boxing him out of the room like a defensive basketball player.

“Out!” He went, and Sansa started to cry. Dany came back in a moment later, and a moment after that, she could hear the roar of Sandor’s motorcycle starting up. It stayed on, though, as though he were sitting in the parking lot. Dany swore at the wall. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Sansa, I let him in because we were both worried about you, but was he why-”

Sansa shook her head. She tossed Dany her phone now and went to the window. Sandor was sitting on his bike, head down, hands in his hair. Her heart broke to see him like that, seemingly near tears, totally out of control. But she was unsure too. The hole in her wall gaped like a missing tooth, drawing her eye back to it even as she tried to see Sandor’s expression.

Dany swore under her breath. “Okay, I get it now. Is this seriously how Joffrey talked to you, Sansa? Godsdamnit, I had no clue. We should have taken him out when we saw him.”

Sansa shrugged, still staring out the window. Sandor had turned the bike off, and seemed to be arguing with himself. While she watched, he pulled his phone out, put it away, pulled it back out again.

“I would have punched the wall, too,” Dany admitted. “Here.”

She handed the phone back just as it lit with a message, but it was from Ned.  _ New boyfriend? Care to bring him to dinner with the old dad? _

Sansa wiped tears off her face roughly, wondering if she’d just ruined everything, if Sandor had. She didn’t want to tell her dad her new boyfriend had just punched a wall and been kicked out of her apartment. It would make her look like she only picked abusers, like she was a stupid idiot and Sandor was something he… wasn’t? Now she wasn’t sure. Dany’s words comforted her, though, and she looked back out the window. She had half a mind to go down and speak to Sandor now that he’d cooled off a little. Surely they could talk it out, the way they had everything.

But there was a rip and a roar, and when she looked back out the window, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorryyyy


	23. Chapter 23

Dany made tea and they curled up in her bed to drink it so they didn’t have to stare at the gaping hole in the drywall of Sansa’s room. Dany and Missandei’s room was a riot of color compared to Sansa’s, pillows everywhere and each wall crowded with art and photos of the couple’s life together. Sansa stared absently at a photo of the two of them atop the London Eye, faces split by identical grins. Would that ever be her, happy in love and traveling the world? She’d thought, for a moment, that it might be. But.

Missandei came home and joined them in bed, curling up without asking for an explanation. Dany whispered to her for a moment, and she nodded, but to Sansa their voices were like static. She was lost in swirling thoughts, doubts, sadness. The presence of her friends was comforting, though, and she was grateful to them for sharing their space. After a while Dany went to get more tea and some cookies, and Missandei started brushing out Sansa’s hair wordlessly. It felt good, comforting, and Sansa let her eyes drift shut.

She must have fallen asleep, because she woke up to the sound of hammering. It took a moment to recognize the room she was in, as Andei and Dany had left her tucked into their bed. She scrubbed her hands over her face, pushed her hair back, and padded into the living room.

The sight there was the last thing she’d expected.

Sandor was kneeling on the carpet, surrounded by her roommates. He was showing Margaery something in his hand, which she peered carefully at before nodding. He set it down and she recognized Margaery’s grandmother’s jewelry box, which Margaery had broken by accident and been distraught about for weeks. Around him on the floor were more things: their wobbliest chair, set on its side, a toolbox, a mug of tea.

Sansa slipped into her bedroom before they saw her. She pulled a warm sweater over her head and inspected her wall. Sandor, she assumed, had been in there: it was patched and smoothed over, the hole nearly invisible now. She ran her hand down it, wondering what had happened while she slept.

Missandei’s soft laughter echoed from the living room, followed by Sandor’s tentative chuckle. Sansa took a deep breath and went back in.

“Hey, Sansa,” Dany said mildly, seeing her. Sandor looked over his shoulder at her and jumped to his feet, the frame he’d been looking at now clattering to the floor.

“Hey!” Margaery protested.

“It was broken anyway, that’s the point,” Dany pointed out. Missandei laughed again, lightly, but peered at Sansa. Sandor was looking at her too: his eyes burned with the intensity of it. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself and nodded to the floor. “What’s going on?”

“I came back to apologize and fix your wall,” he said, voice low, as though it were only meant for her. Her roommates were blatantly listening in, though. “I had to go get my tools, and then when I came back…”

“We made him fix everything,” Dany finished, looking smug.

“I can see that.” Sansa was amused, despite herself. She was glad the other girls had set him to making amends, because she didn't think she had the energy to. It was exhausting even thinking about the talk they had ahead. As if on cue, the other girls remembered things they had to do in their rooms, leaving Sansa and Sandor facing one another across the living room.

She crossed her arms and waited for him to speak. He seemed not to know what to do or say, but she could see that he was struggling to put the words in place.

“I'm sorry,” he started, finally. “I truly am. I acted horribly and there's no excuse for my actions.”

“Okay...” Sansa wasn't really accustomed to receiving apologies from the men who'd hurt her, and now, she'd had two in a month. She'd forgiven her father out of a longstanding familial love, out of necessity since he was half of her remaining family. Ned, she knew, had deserved that forgiveness, as he'd only hurt her accidentally and out of his own pain. As for Sandor, she wasn't sure yet what had cause him to lash out so horribly. Her roommates seemed to have forgiven him, but Sansa had just named herself his girlfriend, and she needed to know more before she could feel comfortable again with the title that had so thrilled her that morning.  _ Gods, had it only been that morning?  _ “So there's no excuse. But what's your excuse?”

She worried the sleeves of her sweater, curling the cuffs into her palms. She wanted to reach for him, cross the living room, but she was wary. Maybe he wasn't someone she could go to for comfort. Maybe he was just another danger.

Sandor sighed, low and long. He sat on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and staring up at her. “I told you I've seen some shit. And I've told you about my brother. I think it goes without saying that my parents didn't do much to protect me from him. Most of the time, it felt like they were protecting him instead.”

She ached for sad, hurting baby Sandor, face newly maimed and no one on his side. But she stayed silent.

“I was an angry kid: real angry. I became a pretty angry man. I'm glad you didn't know me then, little bird: it was all blackouts and bar fights. I finally joined the military to support myself, channel that rage. And it worked, for a while. But then I was out and I was still so angry and now I'd seen things, things that horrified me. War gave me these horrible feelings, moods. It was hard to deal with the dreams.”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” she guessed. He nodded.

“I didn't want to believe the diagnosis, but I was definitely worse. That's when I started seeing Elder Brother.”

She gave him a look like  _ who?  _ and he answered the unspoken question.

“He's my counselor. I got a VA referral but he's here in town. He's helped me, so much. He's the one who suggested I channel my energy into workouts. In a way he's responsible for my entire post-military career.” He cleared his throat. This was the longest speech she'd ever heard from him, but still she waited for more, even as all the pieces slotted into place. “I called him just now, because I left when you needed me most, just because I couldn’t handle you being spoken to that way and hated remembering how people see me and hate what you've been through and I took it out on you. I don't want to be that guy anymore, I thought I wasn't-” Despite clearing his throat a moment ago, his voice sounded rough again, and she realized with growing horror that he was choking back tears. She took a step toward him without realizing, still hugging herself tight. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think. She had to admit that his story made sense. It was a sad story, but it rang true. If he hadn't just scared her so badly, she would have accepted his word without another question. His next words, though, startled her into speech.

“I'd like you to come see him with me, if you can forgive me.” His eyes met hers, steady as silver. 

“What?” She unwrapped her arms from her body, unsure. She'd tried therapy, had hated it, had felt it was like ripping open deep wounds instead of letting them scab over.  _ You didn't have anything to fight for then, though  _ her traitorous mind whispered.  _ You didn't care about being better or even alive.  _ She thought back to the hills and the stars, to her own confessions to Sandor and to the stupid wish that he would have his own demons to live next to hers. As much as she didn't want to be the broken person in their relationship, the reality of dealing with both of their baggage was beginning to make itself clear. “So… therapy?”

He nodded. “For me. For you. For both of us. I don't want to rage quit on you again. I don't want you to shut me out when you're upset again. That's what I want, what do you want?” And he was still as stone.

Sansa considered, rocking back on her heels. She did want those things, and they didn't seem like they would come easily. If Sandor had been seeing this Elder Brother for years and gone from the anger she'd seen being constant to the sweet, kind man she'd been getting to know - at least most of the time - then perhaps he was worth seeing. So she took a deep, steadying breath and said, “Okay. But you have to go to dinner with my dad.”

A smile broke across his face like sunrise in snow. “Deal.”

Carefully, slowly, he slid off of the couch and onto his knees. She finally let herself do what she'd wanted to and stepped into him, his arms coming around her waist. He was so tall that his face was still level with her breasts, and he pressed his face into her sternum, inhaling. She wrapped her arms around him, gripping tight. They stayed like that, wavering slightly, each the other’s life raft.

She kissed his head, inhaling the forest and marveling at having this powerful man prostrated in front of her. He had only hurt her out of his own pain, and she wouldn't stand for it again, but she thought she understood. Thought she could forgive.

“Sandor,” she whispered, and his head popped up. His eyes were wide and suspiciously bright, his hair a rumpled mess from being pressed against her. “Take me home.”


	24. Chapter 24

Walking into Sandor's house felt a thousand times different than the night before. The pizza stone in the sink seemed like it was from a hundred years ago, and the unmade bed seemed unfamiliar, even though Sansa had played her part in rumpling it. She felt heavier now, no longer walking on air but settled, decided. The idea of their relationship had gone from that, an idea, to a reality that was altering her vision and her future alike.

Sandor put his keys down behind her and looked around with her. She wasn't sure if he felt similarly, but when she looked at him, his eyes were unsure. It was new ground for both of them, and it reminded Sansa of new snow, beautiful and sparkling but dirtied by each uncertain footstep. She wanted desperately not to turn their pure white fields into grey-brown slush, but the first muddy footfalls had already been taken. Now all they could do was watch their step.

“Do you want to talk a little more?” he asked, tentative. She was glad that he’d asked, but as she thought about it, she realized that she truly didn’t. She was worn out despite her nap, emotionally exhausted from their afternoon of misunderstandings and straightening out. 

She shook her head. He still looked unsure, so she added “No,” and reached for him. He came to her, kissed her slowly, and rocked her in his embrace for a moment. Somehow his scent, his arms had become her most powerful comfort overnight, even though he’d been the one to upset her in the first place.

Sansa broke off the kiss, and he immediately looked hangdog, upset with himself. It hurt her to think he felt he shouldn’t have kissed her, but she was on the cusp of changing his expression, so she didn’t say a word. She just took his hand and let him to the bedroom.

His hand was large and warm around hers, but she wasn’t brave enough to look back at him on the way down the hall. Only when they made it to his huge bed did she let go, sink down onto the mattress, and look up at him.

It wasn't like her to be wanton, or it never had been before. But she could sense this other Sansa on the cusp of becoming, a confident woman, empowered by Sandor's quiet acquiescence, the way he looked to her like she was a daydream in the dying light. She wanted his comfort, wanted to give him hers, and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been burning to be back in his bed ever since leaving it.

“Little bird,” he whispered, as she unbuckled his belt, stroked her hands up and down his firm stomach and chest. “Little bird,” he cautioned, when her hands dipped into the waistband of his boxers, freeing him to the cooling air, but she didn't stop. And “Sansa,” he gasped finally, when she licked down his shaft and back up again, taking him into her mouth as far as she could.

When she closed her eyes, she could smell the smoky, peaty musk of him, could sense each twitch and quiver of him under her hands. When she opened her eyes, though, she could see his chest rise and fall under his soft t-shirt, see his eyes slitted half-closed in pleasure and wonder, and that was better.

She wanted to continue to work him under her hands and mouth and tongue until she could bring him to a peak, but with a rumble in his throat he brought his hand under her chin, stilling her neatly with his thumb. She pouted unconsciously, nuzzling back toward the erection she was still tantalizingly near, but his hand moved to the back of her neck, lightly tugging her hair to pull her head back. She was staring up at him now, his hand fisted in her loose hair, holding her in place as he stared hungrily down. Sansa knew she was probably flushed red, probably full-lipped and drooling, but she stared back openly, the heat between them sizzling in the air. 

Sandor was fast for a man of his size, and before she even registered having her hair free she was gathered up again, hauled bodily into his arms and against his chest. She could feel him grazing against her, and twitched her hips toward him, causing him to groan and seize her harder to him.

She thought he meant to toss her onto the bed or carry her to the wall, but he turned instead, sitting down and pulling her knees so she was straddling his lap at the edge of the bed. He could cradle her from here, hold her close to him as he devoured her mouth. Together they stripped her of her sweater, her cotton dress, until she was just left in her panties and bra, these ones mismatched unlike the night before. She ground down again, desperation building, but he pulled away, leaning back onto his elbows to see her astride him before fumbling into his nightstand for protection without taking his eyes off of her.

Sandor reached up to unfasten her bra, and Sansa covered her breasts out of instinct as it slid down her body, unused to being so bared to him. He was looking at her like she was perfect, though, and soon his hands followed the path of his eyes along her body. He stroked her hips, dipped his fingers between her legs to rub against her panties. “Gods, you're so wet,” he murmured, running his thumb down the seam. She blushed, chest and cheeks blooming red, but let her hands drop so he could cup her breasts before he skimmed his palms back down her sides. It tickled when he ran his fingertips down and up her ribcage, but her giggle turned into a moan when they found her breasts again. He worried her nipples, staring up into her eyes as as squirmed and gasped.

“Hop up,” he ground out finally, patting her thigh. Dazed, she almost didn't move, but slid backwards and stood finally in front of him, balancing with her hands on his shoulders. He pulled her panties down her hips swiftly, briefly leaning forward to swipe at her with his tongue. She barely had time to react before he pulled her back into his lap, where she slid into him, off-balance.

“Good girl,” Sandor hummed into her ear, and Sansa shivered. His praise did something dark and sweet to her insides, a deep thrill running through her. She arched against him, reaching between them to wrap her hand around his cock, keep it perfectly placed for rocking into. He held onto her ass, letting her set the pace while kissing every piece of her he could reach, cheek and collar and clavicle.

Now when she canted her hips, he gave her what she wanted, guiding their bodies into one with his grip on her flesh. Sansa leaned forward and tilted her forehead into his neck, curling in on the sensation of him. He held her gently against his chest now, running broad hands up her back to her shoulders. She could see their joining from her downward view, and moved experimentally to see the effect. It heated her to see the slow slide, and feeling emboldened by it, she sat backwards so he could see too. 

Sandor's fingers gripped her lower back carefully as she began to move above him, urgency building with the pressure within her. “Fuck,” he said now, and Sansa nodded in agreement, still moving. It was a lot, almost too much, and then he slid a hand between them and it  _ was _ too much, it was  _ everything _ and-

It felt like a rocket went off inside her, hurtling through her body and sending sparks showering to ember. Sandor's grip on her tightened near-painfully as he held her to him so she wouldn't fly away, but even that felt good, grounded her through the soaring, and he fucked her hard and fast for breathless, overwhelming seconds before following behind.

He didn't let her go, just held her tighter to him, his body dampened forehead hot against her cheek. She stayed without complaint, boneless and happy again in his arms. She felt shaky, high, solidified. She only shifted when her thighs began to ache, and he sensed her discomfort, laying back in the bed and pulling her to lay atop him, still snug in his arms. She lay her head into the crook of his neck, listening to their breathing calm and cool.

“Thank you,” he said finally, so quiet that she barely heard him. Sansa propped her head up to see his face, and was faced with the most solemn expression she'd seen him wearing yet.

“For what?” she asked, bemused, thinking bizarrely for a minute that he meant for being on top, but that couldn't be it.

“For coming here. Forgiving me. What a day, Sansa, I swear I haven't done anything so stupid in years.”

“I make you stupid,” she suggested, expecting a laugh, but he shook his head.

“No. You're the reason I shouldn't be.” He kissed her, and Sansa sighed into it, going boneless on his chest. Things felt resolved now, more than they had before, and the sharp tinge of pain and fear and regret had abated. He ran his hand through her hair as they melted together, until they were almost asleep at the edge of his big, wide bed.

Finally she grew achey and shifted, and Sandor helped her slide to the side so they could sit up. “Shower?” he suggested, but she shrugged. 

“Maybe… are you hungry?”

“Definitely.” 

And so Sansa found herself sitting on the counter in the dark stretch of Sandor's kitchen, feet grazing against the cabinets as he cooked up a breakfast that would feed the entire former Stark family.

She flipped through the channels on his TV and paused on the classic movie channel, finding  _ Breakfast at Tiffany’s _ just about to begin. He laughed when she mentioned it, and they settled in to watch over midnight waffles, bacon, eggs, and orange juice that Sandor tipped some tequila into.

Full and sated, she must have fallen asleep again, because she woke up when it was almost over, her head in Sandor's lap. He had his legs on the table, a drink in his hand, and was totally sucked into the movie. He didn't even notice that she'd opened her eyes, and she peeked through her eyelashes as he took it in.

_ You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you're terrified somebody's going to stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somaliland. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself _ , Paul Varjak was saying, and Sandor tipped his drink to the screen.

She waited for the credits before speaking. “It's good, right? The book doesn't end as well.”

He glanced down at her, his hand going to her cheek. “No? Then I prefer the movie.”

“Me too,” she agreed, meeting his warm smile with one of her own. "Bed?"

“Bed,” he nodded, and they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intermission has begun!
> 
> Thank you all so much for supporting this fic and reading the silly words I write. I hope to update soon but I don't want to promise anything. I will be on a computer here and there during my trip, because I GOT THE JOB I told you all about, so there are some papers to be signed and whatnot. And y'all know I'll check in with my Sansan peeps the second I get online! It's been a shitty year, so I'm really just happy and proud to be in a place where I can connect with you guys and hit the beach and leave the job I've been at during a few really rough times. Just proof that shit doesn't stay bad and uncomfortable, it's constantly moving and eventually you'll land in a happy pocket again. No one knows that more than our Sandor and Sansa babies in the fic! Life is beautiful and so are you, I love you all.


	25. Chapter 25

Elder Brother turned out to be a small old man, half Sandor's size but tough as nails and with a big, booming laugh that would fill any room.

The laugh set Sansa at ease at once, even thought she'd been nervous all morning, had even dressed up even though she'd had to wear her fancy clothes to class. She hadn't expected to go meet him just days after Sandor suggested it, but she was secretly glad not to have more time to be nervous, and work and school had kept her from worrying too much in the meantime.

Sandor seemed comfortable in the office they met at, and she wondered at the emotions he'd shared only with this man and these walls. The walls were a rich, friendly oak, diplomas and abstract paintings covering every wall. The room was overstuffed with all kinds of furniture and cushions, tissues placed discretely beside each seat. 

Elder Brother seemed to have been briefed on Sansa's attendance, and was seemingly overjoyed to meet her. “My dear, my dear, you are a vision!” he'd said upon their introduction, grasping her hands and causing Sandor to glower a little.

“Don't embarrass the girl,” he said, and Elder Brother winked over his glasses at Sansa.

“Don't embarrass  _ him _ , I think our mutual friend means, don't you?”

Sandor had rolled his eyes and walked into the office, and Elder Brother had ushered her in behind.

They sat, Sandor's arm protectively across Sansa’s shoulders in the loveseat they had chosen, Sansa clutching her purse like a shield.

Elder Brother leaned back in his armchair and addressed Sansa directly. “My girl, I am delighted to meet you, although I do wish the circumstances were different. It's my gift and curse that the people in my life most often appear in times of crisis, but I'd be honored if you would share that burden with your silly Elder Brother.”

“Okay,” Sansa said, offering a weak smile before clearing her throat. “I guess… well, as you know, my name is Sansa Stark.”

She filled him in on her story, briefly, trying not to linger on any one painful detail. It didn't keep her from tearing up as she described her family, and Sandor took her hand as she talked a little about Joffrey, clearly struggling to sit quietly. 

Elder Brother held up a hand when she tried to explain the events that had brought them in, saying he knew all about Sandor's backslide.

“It wasn't really a backslide, just one mistake,” she tried to say, feeling Sandor's shame beside her.

Elder Brother shook his head, but his smile was gentle. “Sweet Sansa, you mustn't minimize the error that our Sandor has made. It's very common in domestic abuse survivors to explain or excuse away these things, and I'm sorry to say that it prevents proper boundaries and defenses from developing. Think of it like this: your relationship barometer has been set by irregular behavior. Of course you know the broad strokes of what was improper, but there are many less obvious things that don't register as improper when what I call your “normal meter” is improperly set.”

Sansa shrugged, embarrassed. Elder Brother patted her knees. “Sandor, my boy, won't you give us a moment?”

Sandor stood, obviously reluctant to leave her, but she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and he went.

And her first session with Elder Brother began.

Soon Sansa saw him more than Sandor did. He'd given her his phone number, and she called him from the corners of her campus and the privacy of her bedroom. She went back alone the weekend after their first session and stayed for five hours. It was addicting, now that she'd unsealed the little tomb of bad feelings inside her, to toss everything out in the open and see what Elder Brother would make of it. He had something to say for every piece of guilt and self-loathing she'd been carrying with her for what felt like everything, something that sounded simple and sane and sometimes erased lingering thoughts entirely. How could it not be addicting?

They talked about her nightmares, and Elder Brother suggested that their worsening was due to the car accident at her work. He explained that the crash had brought the details of her family's tragedy into “the world of the physical.” Giving her a “scent, sight, and sound,” as he put it, her subconscious had more to latch onto when it came to conjuring up horrible visions. He suggested she exercise or practice yoga, adding “I believe we know a man in the fitness industry, as well.”

They talked about how stupid she felt for being so slow to finish her degree, how adrift she was compared to her roommates and how afraid she was of leaving her comfort zone of low-effort jobs. To that he had an answer, too, and compared trauma to a heavy backpack that Sansa had been saddled with in her day-to-day living. “It's invisible, so it's tempting to blame yourself for not being able to run flat-out,” he offered, and Sansa’s eyes pricked with tears to hear the simple truth of what he was saying. “But you’ve been carrying this burden without anyone to help for years.”

They even discussed her anxiety, although Elder Brother thought she could reduce her attacks without going straight to medication. It was a relief to hear him say she wasn't crazy, that she'd been coping the best she could. She  _ had _ been, but hearing it from someone other than Ned or Sandor helped it truly sink in. She left every session feeling exhausted, but inevitably woke up light the next day. 

She and Sandor had developed a habit of eating dinner together when their schedules allowed, and so most nights they cooked at his house. They went back to the Starlite when she had a lunch break once, but mostly they stayed in, spending long evenings in bed talking and talking and a lot more besides.

Sandor never asked what Sansa and Elder Brother talked about, but she often told him anyway, and he'd listen while she ran through the thoughts she was still so new to processing. She felt like she'd woken up suddenly, between Sandor and counseling, and everything was a bubble of brightness, colors and sensations emerging out of a fog she hadn't known she was in.

The only thing they hadn't talked about again was the text that had led them to Elder Brother in the first place. It was only when Sandor dropped Sansa off one morning and Elder Brother asked him to stay, and if Sansa minded, that she knew it was time.

Finally she heard the day’s timeline from Sandor's perspective, and it broke her heart to hear him admit his worry about her rejection, how he'd summoned everything in him to follow his gut and come check on her. How the ugly words of Joffrey, unprepared as he was, had felt like an echo of his brother's. He described his anger, not looking at anyone, and this time Sansa wondered that he'd controlled himself to the extent he had. Finally he cracked a smile describing Dany’s ejection of him and subsequently demanded reparations. Sansa smiled too, believing the worst to be over. Elder Brother declined to fill in the gaps of the conversation the men had had, but was happy to jump in and guide Sansa through her own retelling. 

Finally she asked the question that had bothered her the most about that day, although she didn't think anyone would be able to answer it.

“Who do you think Joffrey texted me, anyway?”

“Because he's a sick little bastard,” Sandor sniped, but said nothing else at Elder Brother’s expression.

“We can't know for sure,” he said quietly, firmly. “However. Escalation can be common after a run-in like you had in person recently. Seeing you being out from under his control triggered that need to control you, at least your emotional state.”

“But I can just block him.” Sansa argued.

“He still managed to disrupt your day. Nearly a new relationship. He can't know that, of course, so he may find he wants to try again. Be on alert to delete any unknown numbers.”

“If he's anything like my brother, he'll try again,” Sandor said darkly. “He has something to lose - and he was just reminded what he lost.”

Elder Brother nodded reluctantly. “Someone precious.”

Sandor seemed thoughtful on the way back to Sansa's. She let him think, staring out the window at clouds and treetops. Only when he  _ hmm _ ed did she turn toward him for whatever he would say.

He was driving the truck, but his profile seemed sheepish. “Nothing. I was just thinking how much easier it is to fight someone in person than to fight against their influence and their memory.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She had to smile, though, imagining Sandor beside Joffrey. “Especially when they'd be easy to beat in a fight?”

“Don't tempt me,” Sandor sighed.

Sansa hid a smile. She really felt like she'd gotten to know him better in a short amount of time with all the deep talks that Elder Brother had initiated between them. And every new layer made her like him a little bit more.

When they got back to the apartment, Dany and Missandei roped them into a board game night, and as Sandor and Dany became locked in a fierce battle for Park Place, she couldn't help but smile. Everything seemed better than before, more cohesive and more comforting. 

She only hoped dinner with Ned would be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note that therapy doesn’t look the same for everyone, and I am not a therapist, so Elder Brother’s sessions with Sansa are only based on my understanding of therapy I have personally experienced. Which is a shitton. But don’t listen to Elder Brother: please find your own therapist if you need some support. Psychology Today has a great directory online to get started. <3 love you!


	26. Chapter 26

Mornings at Sandor’s apartment were a special kind of heaven. Having slept without the worry of nightmares, Sansa would wake up feeling as sleepy and happy as a kitten in a patch of sunlight. She’d stretch out as much as she could, trapped under Sandor’s enormous arm as she often was, and snuggle into his bearlike chest. She’d revel in his deep, even breathing, safety and warmth pulsing through her.

And then she’d wake him up. 

It was a constant delight to her how he reacted to her touches. If she’d ever been called to touch Joffrey with affection, he’d either ignore her hands or brush them away. Eventually she’d stopped trying. He’d been a coddled child, though, and was still over-attached to his hovering mother. She suspected that Sandor had never been cuddled and pet so much as she couldn’t resist doing to him, and he reacted much like a neglected dog. You’d never catch him admitting it, but he nuzzled back into her every touch, even now when he was mostly sleeping.

She buried her face in his neck and stroked his chest slowly, listening as his snores faded away. Soon he was turning in to her, curling his hand over her hip. She loved this part, too, how he responded to her so often with unselfconscious arousal. He was hard already, she could feel him against her leg, and she stretched carefully to see what he would do. A soft whine escaped him, and he seemed to wake himself up with the noise, blinking at her at close range until she was rewarded with a sleepy smile. 

“Good morning,” she whispered, watching his eyes shift from cloud and smoke to the clear grey of a crisp wet morning.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured back, his hand tightening on her hip to give her a squeeze. “You ready for a workout?”

She giggled. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He laughed, rolled onto his back to stretch. “No, I meant at the gym.”

Of course. Today Sandor was taking her to his gym, at Elder Brother’s recommendation. She suspected that it was a big step for Sandor, as his gym was his happy place and basically his second type of therapy. They had plans to visit Blackwater Gym before her shift at work, Sandor working from home for a while before picking her up for dinner at Ned’s. It was a promising schedule, although she did wish there was more time built in for another kind of workout.

It felt strange not to shower, but Sandor assured her they’d work up a sweat soon enough, so she slipped into the yoga pants and tank top she’d brought over and worked her long hair into a high ponytail. She wished Missandei or Dany was around to help her braid it, feeling strangely nervous. She’d only ever taken yoga or cycling classes before, and that infrequently. Naturally thin, she’d never pursued fitness in any serious way, as a few of her siblings had always been the athletic ones instead.

Sandor made them shakes — chocolate for Sansa, some sort of green sludge for himself — and she spent a moment snuggled into him again in the kitchen before they left for the day.

“Are you nervous?” he asked the top of her head, his words rumbling through his chest and into her cheek.

“No,” she answered honestly. “Just enjoying this peace first.”

And beyond their embrace, the woods were quiet, the sounds of people far away. She felt safe here, safe with Sandor and safe amidst the trees and birds that surrounded his little home. Nothing bad had ever happened here, and she felt more and more sure that nothing would. She’d already started spending a few nights a week, and she felt at home there already, although some of that may have been being with Sandor. Since the text and the wall and the beginning of counseling, they hadn’t had any other misunderstandings. She was feeling optimistic again. Bolstered by his unwavering dedication to proving himself, she’d been able to relax enough to be excited to introduce Sandor to her dad. She didn’t have any illusions about giving him a son again — Sandor was older than even Robb would be now — but Sandor certainly didn’t have any family, and it was all she could hope for that the two pieces of her life would knit seamlessly together. Any anxiety about that, well, she would have to work off in the gym.

Blackwater Gym was tucked into an industrial part of town, not too far from the bridge where Sansa worked. Sandor had pulled his hair into a ponytail that matched Sansa’s, and she tugged it playfully as they walked inside. He plucked her hand away, trapping it in his, and they entered hand-in-hand.

A suntanned man in basketball shorts and a ribbed tank was standing by the front desk, drumming on the counter with a pencil as he looked through some papers. He looked up when they came in, his face breaking into a smile that looked utterly natural on his laugh-lined face. Lean, long-limbed, and with the easy physicality of a lifelong sportsman, he seemed to exist in a different universe than her dark, serious Sandor. And yet the two men approached each other instantly, doing the half-hug with back slapping thing that men always did before the stranger backed up a step to assess their hand-holding with a grin.

“Sansa, I presume?”

Sansa blushed, but shook the hand of the man, who was named Bronn, owned the gym, and did all the talking for the three of them. He showed them around — well, showed Sansa around, with Sandor following — and pointed out the area where Sandor had helped to make improvements. Sansa was pleased to see that Sandor had at least one friend who loved him enough to try to impress girlfriends on his behalf. Bronn was a tease, too, and Sandor ignored it but Sansa found herself laughing more and more as the tour continued. 

“— and this is the room where we have our classes,” Bronn was saying, showing them to the window of a room that had a yoga class going on at the moment. A statuesque blonde woman was helping one person correct their pose, aiming their arm straight up at the ceiling.

“Oh, I love yoga,” Sansa said, delighted. “I’d love to get a copy of the class schedule.”

“You’ve got it,” Bronn assured her, making finger-guns like the jester that she was learning he was. “And your money’s no good here, you know, Sandy here has saved me thousands and made me thousands more over the years, so-”

“-any friend of his is a friend of yours?” she guessed, smiling.

“I was going to say any girlfriend of his is a girlfriend of mine, but-”

“You fucker,” Sandor interrupted, without any real heat.

“-I value my life too much,” Bronn finished, his perpetual grin getting wider. “That guy over there would kill me.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t,” Sansa disagreed automatically, aware that it was a joke but not able to let Sandor be seen as a cruel or violent person. Not when he was working so hard to change that. “I mean,” she faltered, not wanting to be rude or act like she wanted Bronn to treat her like a girlfriend, “he um. You know. He’s reasonable.”

She felt like her face was red, and when she snuck a peek at Sandor he looked grimly amused, but Bronn merely raised his eyebrows to Sandor, seeming pleased.

Sansa stuck to cardio that day, although Sandor circled back to walk her through the weight racks at the end of his workout. It felt nice to do something active, something for herself, but the real draw of the gym turned out to be watching Sandor work out. 

He started on the floor, going from crunches to reverse crunches to a series of different planks that looked utterly tortuous, and even launching into something Bronn called a plank crunch that Sansa had never even heard of. Even from underneath his t-shirt, Sandor’s shoulders shifted in ways that started a fire in her belly. Soon she could hardly focus on her own breathing on the treadmill, what with his arms and his back and his sweat and the hairs that escaped from his ponytail and stuck to his cheeks, ignored as he panted and pressed…

Sansa was quite sure that she wasn’t just overheating from her workout. She actually felt great upon ending, and remarked as much to Sandor after they’d waved goodbye to Bronn.

“You’ll be sore tomorrow, trust me,” he chuckled. “But soon you’ll get used to it. If you’d like to go back, that is.”

“I’d love to,” she assured him, squeezing his hand before getting into the truck door he’d opened for her. “And we should invite Bronn to hang out sometime! I like him.”

“Somehow most people do like that bastard,” Sandor shrugged. “Myself included. What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe a double date?” She raised her eyebrows, and Sandor laughed as he started them on the journey toward home. His home.

“You’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t you?”

“I’m not wearing sleeves,” Sansa answered primly, smiling at his responding laughter and trying to think of what to say to Margaery. 

They showered together, intending to be quick about it, but soon Sansa found herself thrilling again between Sandor’s heat and the tile’s cool embrace. He worked his fingers against her as they kissed, water slipping through their mouths while she pressed and wriggled against him. He rocked his hips into her and she finally got to run her hands along all his shifting, solid muscles.

Sansa wasn’t late to work, but it was a close thing.


	27. Chapter 27

As soon as Ned opened the door, Sansa was nervous. She could tell he didn't know what to make of Sandor, and she didn't blame him for being uncertain, but the way his mouth was set as the men shook hands said it all. She wanted to drop her courtesies to defend him, but she just hugged her dad and went to greet Ros.

“Goodness,” Ros said, much less stoic as she took in Sandor's scars, “you look like a Bond villain. Doesn't he, hon?”

“Not one of the femmes fatale, I hope,” Sandor joked politely, while Sansa bristled on his behalf. She knew Sandor was used to a whole range of reactions to his scars, and it was clear that he'd learned to handle it with humor. Ned seemed to relax slightly, so she did too, letting the moment pass. 

“Oh, no, one of the handsome ones for sure,” Ros amended, seeming embarrassed now. “Sorry, Sandor, you're just a striking guy.”

“Big,” Ned observed on the back of that. ”Three times the size of the last one.”

Sansa couldn't blame her dad for worrying, but her blood still heated in her ears. Sandor seemed on the same page, as she could hear him mutter something like  _ yeah that worked out _ as they moved inside. 

They sat, Sandor huge against the overstuffed couch. “How's school going, kitten?” Ned asked from the kitchen, hovering over the counter as he mixed drinks. 

“Oh, it's good,” Sansa said, fiddling with the hem of the floaty A-line skirt she'd worn. “Semester's almost over.”

“Oh, that will be a relief, huh?” Ros asked, bustling back over to them with a tray of spanakopita. 

Sansa nodded, and Ned carried the drinks over, handing Sandor his last and fixed him with a keen look.. “And Sandor, you're not a student, I take it?”

Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was already old for a student, and Ned’s questioning of Sandor's age couldn't be more obvious.

“No, Ned, I'm in consulting.” Sandor was polite enough as they kept talking, but Sansa noticed he used the name Ned had offered instead of going with a  _ sir _ .  _ Not a sir kind of guy _ , she remembered, privately amused. She really did love his confident yet inoffensive manner. She could only hope her dad would too.

She tuned back in to hear the men comparing military careers, to her surprise. Ned didn't really talk about that part of his life with anyone but his friend Bobby, but Sandor was chuckling at some incomprehensible story Ned was halfway through telling. From behind them, Ros offered a cheeky grin and a thumbs-up. Sansa hid a smile.

Sandor and Ned were talking about the Battle of the Trident, so Sansa joined Ros in the kitchen. “Need any help?”

“Thanks, hon,” Ros said distractedly, and Sansa noted that she’d used the same pet name for her dad. It felt strange and yet satisfying, preparing a salad together, standing at the kitchen counter like she had with Catelyn. Bran had been interested in cooking, but Arya never had, and so Sansa was actually a practiced childhood sous chef. She got so wrapped up in chopping and nodding at Ros’ stories that she didn’t even notice when the men disappeared.

Instead she learned that Ros’ favorite book was  _ Be Here Now _ , her favorite novel  _ Siddhartha _ , her favorite meal Japanese curry. Ros had also traveled extensively in place of college, and Sansa expressed her envy once they’d finished food prepping and were leaning against the counter drinking. 

“Oh, you must travel after college,” Ros told her, taking a healthy sip. “If you can, of course. I sacrificed everything to do it, and to be honest, I went on multiple dates a week in order to save on food costs.” Sansa giggled, imagining a fiery young Ros and liking the image that conjured up. “My bones are getting older now, but I’m sure your dad would love to help fund a trip.”

“Oh… we’ll see,” Sansa said, a little uncomfortable lest Ros think she was asking for money. They’d had mostly snowy vacations while she was growing up, as it was hard and costly to travel with so many children. She told Ros about Sandor’s five hours in Italy, and listened to Ros’ descriptions of Florence and Venice in return.

“I don’t want to overstep or anything,” Ros assured her, reading her hesitation. “I just hear what your Dad says, and he worries about you a little. I’m sure you worry about him.”

“Not so much anymore,” Sansa said, smiling at her. “But you can tell him… I started seeing someone. Professionally, I mean. Not Sandor.”

“Oh, I see.” Ros sounded pleased. “That’s wonderful, Sansa.”

The patio door slid open and the men came back in, heralded by a wave of grill smoke. Sandor was still smiling at something, and Ned seemed in good humor, as well. Sansa looked up when they came in, and when Sandor’s eyes found her, she lit up in return. Ros cleared her throat.

“Refills, anyone?”

Their meal was great after so many cocktails, although Sansa noted that Ned stopped after one. It made her heart hurt, thinking about the depths such a good man had fallen to, and seeing how carefully he’d clawed his way out. She hadn’t really stuck around to see, to help. Elder Brother assured her that it wasn’t a child’s job to parent the parent, and that she’d needed to save herself before having anything to give toward helping another — citing the statistic that drowning victims often dragged their rescuers down. The guilt was still there, of course, but it was less than her pride in him. And even though Ros and Sandor were new to the table, it felt more balanced. Warmer. Better.  _ There’s love at this table _ , she realized, although she didn’t think any harder on the form of that love. For now, it was enough that it was there.

It was everything.

After dinner, Sansa joined Ned on the patio for his post-dinner cigar. Sandor squeezed her hand before she went, and she glanced back to see him joining Ros in the kitchen. She wondered what they would talk about, but maybe they could bond — dating Starks wasn’t as easy as it once had been, after all.

Ned settled into his chair and took a few long, slow puffs before saying anything. Sansa pulled her foot up onto the chair and hugged her knee. She waited, knowing he’d have something to say and curious as to what it would be.

“He seems nice enough,” he said finally, and she smiled to hear how reluctantly he said it.

“You didn’t expect him to be?”

Ned sighed a little. “To be candid, kitten, I might not have chosen him for you. Just on sight — he’s old, he’s ugly—”

“He’s not!” she protested, but he held up his hand, laughing.

“You know what I mean. You always wanted a golden prince as a little girl, a Prince Charming complete with a white horse. Not the motorcycle I saw you two pull up on. Don’t think I missed that.”

She couldn’t help smiling back. “Okay, okay. But Dad… you know.”

“I know.” He reached for her hand, squeezing it just like Sandor had a moment ago. They didn’t need to say it: Sansa had been victimized, violated, verbally abused. She’d been broken down already by the richest, most pedigreed boy in the city of Westeros. Princes weren’t what they been cracked up to be in her fairytales. What she ended up needing was so much different, and Ned wasn’t going to pass judgement if she thought she’d found it. “Have I ever told you about Petyr Baelish?”

Sansa shook her head, the name unfamiliar. Ned sighed, the smoke between them giving an otherworldly setting to his story as it began.

Catelyn had been a teenager: beautiful as Sansa, red-haired and the perfect young lady. Her childhood friend Petyr had wanted her to himself, and when she politely rejected him, he’d stalked her across their school campus until she’d had to get their parents involved. Once officially warned away from her, Petyr had turned his obsession into something even more evil, turning his oily compliments toward Aunt Lysa. Sansa wasn’t surprised to hear that Lysa had fallen for it, but she was surprised to hear that this was the primary event that had created a gap between the sisters. Ned said Lysa would still defend “poor sweet Petyr” if asked about him to this day, though it was only once she’d passed away that Petyr had stopped popping up every five years to “see how Catelyn was doing.” Sansa’s face must have said it all, because Ned nodded, looking serious.

“I only met the man once, and I did my best to scare him away, but men like that are dangerous. Obsessive. They feel like they have rights in the real world that are based on their poisonous thinking. I should have warned you about men like that before you were off on your own, but I’d always thought it was Mom’s place to tell you that story.”

“And then it was too late.” Sansa marveled at the similarities to Joffrey’s texting, at the strength of her mom to move past life’s occasional creep.

“I wish I’d done more to help you, Sansa, but I am glad you seem to be with someone who doesn’t have that same anger inside of him.”

Sansa bit her lip but said nothing. She believed in Sandor, but there was certainly anger inside of him, and she didn’t want Ned to know that before seeing him the way she did. She only hoped he could continue to prove worthy of her faith in him.

Ned squeezed Sandor’s shoulder before the two of them left, and Sandor clapped his back. “Your dad seems great,” he remarked, before they put their helmets on and climbed onto the bike.

“He is,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his back and hoping, wishing, that nothing would happen to change each man’s good opinion of the other.


	28. Chapter 28

Sansa stretched out before rolling up her yoga mat. She'd had a great few classes at Blackwater Gym so far - she adored the teacher, Brienne, and had giggled when she realized Brienne was the person Sandor had been set up with. They seemed far too similar, in her opinion, which was why it was so impressive that Brienne had this calm, meditative side. It almost made her consider bringing Sandor to yoga: like Brienne, she was sure he would make for a strong Warrior in the warrior pose.

Things had felt peaceful for weeks. The fitness center Sandor had been helping prepare to open across town was having its opening night soon, and he was still fretting over final details between bidding for new jobs, but overall his days were quieter. She had only a month left before winter vacation: Sansa always took summer classes, but this break was shorter, and she was excited for some uninterrupted time with Sandor. 

Sandor also seemed happy. He'd started dropping in on Ned, first to pick up a spice rub they'd discussed, but eventually to talk work: Ned had returned to Baratheon Industries, and was hard at work to make up for lost time. Sandor didn't tell her much of what they talked about, but Sansa had gone to a rom com movie with Ros, and knew they'd been meeting near-weekly. 

She'd even stopped worrying about Joffrey texting again: slowly the specter of her upcoming finals had taken over all her daily worries.

Sansa showered before heading out, wringing out her long red hair and humming a little as she wrapped herself in a scratchy gym towel. When she was dressed and headed out, she ran into Bronn, who was leaving his office for the day.

He gave her a cheeky grin and a little side hug. “How’s it going, Sans? Dinner with Sandy tonight?”

“Sandor and I are having dinner, yes,” she answered with a grin. Bronn was truly incorrigible. “Actually, speaking of which, would you like to join us this weekend? I have a friend I’d like you to meet.”

“She as cute as you?” Bronn waggled his eyebrows, but opened the front door for her as they reached it. She rolled her eyes, smiling.

“What's so funny?” Sandor asked, when she hopped into his waiting truck.

“Bronn. I can't wait to introduce him to Mar.”

“I'm a little afraid,” he admitted, swinging out of the parking lot. “We still on for tonight?”

“We’re on!” She wiggled her backpack at him. “I’ve got the blanket you asked for and my warmest sweater.”

They’d planned another picnic, this one on the other side of town. There was a gorgeous resort built from an old castle on the banks of the river, ironically on the side of the bridge that Sansa charged people to access and never visited herself. Kingswood was a well-to-do area, well-known for its most famous inn, a waterfront property that oversaw the entire city from across the dark and peaceful waters of Blackwater Rush. In the summer Kingswood Castle was filled with vacationing families and brunch-goers. In the winter, like now, it became a country club for locals and their visiting families. The property’s trees were flocked with glittering fake snow and bedecked with glowing lights, and restaurants, spas, and VIP cottages dotted its tranquil grounds. Sansa would never have thought to go there, but Sandor suggested they picnic on its public shoreline, taking advantage of the view without being sucked in for expensive cocktail and spa treatments.

Sansa was chattering about her classes — she’d spent most of her week reading at work to research the essays she was working on, working extra shifts so she could take a little time off to write them over the next few weeks. So wrapped up in ranting about how annoying it was to track citations, it took her a moment to realize that Sandor was quieter than usual. “Sorry, I know it’s boring,” she said automatically, quieting herself.

“It’s not,” he assured her instantly, reaching for her hand. “I’m interested, and I want to hear more. We’re just here is all.”

She looked up. She’d assumed they would park along the riverfront or somewhere in the resort grounds. Instead, Sandor had navigated them to the sweeping front driveway, his truck out of place surrounded by the luxury vehicles and sleek black chauffeured vehicles that lined the cobblestones. “Sandor, I think they probably charge for parking up here.”

“That’s okay.” He grinned at her, and then a valet was there, helping her out of the car and jogging over to take Sandor’s keys. The enormous arched entryway to the castle glowed ahead of them, warmth and rich scents already emitting from inside. Sansa felt underdressed, having showered her makeup off post-gym and clutching a backpack. She doubted they’d even be allowed to picnic here, looking around, and was about to suggest they try somewhere else when Sandor took her arm.

“Ready?”

“Ready for what?” He led her inside. The ceilings were impossibly high, laden with chandeliers. He steered her right, down a hallway studded with oil paintings and padded with hand-knotted Dornish carpets. She marveled at it, pleased they’d snuck in for a quick tour. “Its beautiful.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugged, and she laughed when he tugged lightly on a piece of her hair. “It’s almost a decent backdrop for you, anyway.”

She was still smiling when he stopped at a wooden door. He slid something from his back pocket, opening the door and holding it wide.

“Wait, what?” She peered up into his face, and he finally looked nervous. “Did you get us a room?”

He nodded, biting his lip. “I thought, maybe, you know, we could have a picnic in here.”

Sansa laughed out loud and stepped into the room. “Sandor, its beautiful!” The doorway opened up into a huge room, with dark and moody walls surrounding the biggest, plushest bed she’d ever seen. She peeked into the bathroom: an enormous tub filled most of it. Sansa spun around again, delighted, but a little disarmed by the surprise. “I didn’t bring anything to sleep here.”

“Oh, I know.” He went to the close and pulled out a bag. Surprised, she recognized it as hers. “Missandei threw some of your stuff together for me earlier. I know you girls were supposed to clean up together in the morning, so I sent a maid service. It would suck if I sent you back to a messy apartment and resentful roommates. I’m a little scared of Dany, to be honest.”

“You should be,” Sansa agreed, laughing. “That was amazing, Sandor, thank you so much.”

He shrugged, eyes warm as he watched her explore the room. “My pleasure. I like doing stuff for you.”

They put on thick Kingswood Castle robes from the closet and spread the blanket she’d brought over the plush bedspread, ordering room service to complete their picnic. Sansa giggled her way through several glasses of champagne, feeding Sandor the decadent hors d'oeuvres that they ordered. The little bites of canapés, finished by adorable lemon cakes, looked extra tiny compared to his mass.  _ I should have known he had something up his sleeve _ , she decided, looking at the man cross-legged across from her in bed. He’d worn a dark grey button-down shirt with well-fitting black jeans and leather oxfords. She’d assumed he was dressed for work, but she’d never seen him put product in his hair to work before. He had it slicked back now, tight to his head in a way that kept his scars out on full display. She was proud to see them, felt like he was secure with her now, in addition to looking exceptionally handsome. In fact, she was so content, she felt like she was floating. Sandor told her he’d planned for morning massages and a walk through the grounds to breakfast, and all she could do was nod along dreamily.

After dinner they ran a bath. Sansa sorted through the bag that Missandei had packed, finding her makeup alongside a few nice outfits and her smallest pajamas. Blushing, she also saw that her skimpiest underwear had been included, including a sheer nightgown she’d fallen in love with on the sale rack and never worn.  _ Nice one, Andei. _ She hid it in the pocket of her robe and went to join Sandor in the bathroom. 

Sandor had run the bathtub hot and filled it with eucalyptus-scented bubbles that sent Sansa’s nose twitching with happiness. He was already ensconced in its waters, just the muscles of his shoulders rising up above the rim. He had his long neck tipped back, his throat showing where scars disappeared into the ruff of his beard. She admired him for a moment before toeing her shoes off. Sensing her, he looked up, and Sansa hesitated a little. “Most baths don’t fit me,” he offered quietly, watching her from underneath his lowered lashes.

“Yeah, my legs are usually too long and I have my knobby knees sticking out,” she joked back, shifting a little before pretending to be brave, taking her hair down before pulling her blouse up over her head. She wriggled out of her pants next, feeling decidedly unsexy, but Sandor’s eyes had gone dark and hot from where he watched her.

“You don’t look knobby to me,” he said, voice scratchy yet smooth, and she couldn’t help but smile as she unhooked her bra and stepped out of her panties. The way his head snapped up from the back of the tub provided all the confidence she needed.

Sansa sunk into the sweet, fragrant bubbles, settling herself back against Sandor’s chest. His arms came around her underwater, holding her gently against the muscular mass of his chest. She stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes above the water before going boneless against him. Sandor’s lips found her shoulder, resting in one extended kiss while he skimmed his hands down her sides, back up again. When his lips moved to her neck, she shivered, turning to meet his kiss.

She sighed into his mouth and went boneless. Between the bubbles, the champagne, and the velvet heat of him, warmer even than the bathwater, Sandor’s kiss burned through her slowly. The gentle way he held her was a direct contrast to the hard, broad feel of him folded around her. His fingertips skated over her breasts, his huge hands engulfing them completely as they kissed. His tongue slid over hers at the same pace his hands slid back down again, reaching her legs and slipping in between them.

“Sandor,” she whispered, before slipping away. His answering hum warmed her to her core.

They got a lot of water on the floor.


	29. Chapter 29

Margaery screeched again, setting Sansa’s teeth on edge. Sansa had her head flipped upside down and was brushing her hair out, but was otherwise ready to go. Margaery, on the other hand, was making increasingly questionable banging and swearing sounds from the other room.

“The top you’re wearing is fine! Dany shouted across the apartment. Margaery answered with another thump, and Sansa had to fight not to laugh. It was double date night, and Sansa still felt confident about the setup, but Margaery’s nerves were getting the best of her. She’d changed at least three times that Sansa had seen, and had re-winged her eyeliner at least twice. Usually Margaery was the least fussy of them all, seemingly put together perfectly each with no effort on her behalf. Sansa had always envied her effortless, sexy style, but pressure seemed to have gotten the best of her this time. 

They were meeting the guys at The Sigil, a trendy dive bar near the college campus. Sansa knew Sandor was unerringly punctual, but didn’t say anything when they started running late, because Margaery was a speedy driver under the best of circumstances. True to form, once Margaery had given up on changing again, she drove them there in much less time than was probably advisable, and they were hardly late. Sansa felt ready for anything in a long-sleeved tunic dress with embroidered flowers that tied at the waist, just a little bit short but balanced with tall boots underneath. Margaery, on the other hand, had wound up in an outrageously slinky slip dress, and her long pony grazed her back as she checked the mirrors. 

Margaery paused in the parking lot to wipe her hands on her pants. “I’m so sweaty. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sansa offered, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “We can make some excuse if you’re not into him. But he’s really nice.”

“We’ll see,” Mar snorted, wiping her hands again. “Okay, let’s go.”

The bar was dim and crowded, with posters wallpapering every surface and dozens of tap handles behind the bar. Sandor was easy to pick out from across the room: at the bar, his bulk seemed to draw gravity inward, Sansa’s eyes going to him automatically. He looked up, smiled at her, and she felt herself floating forward without thinking. She reached him and leaned against his leg on the barstool, curling into his chest for a hello kiss. It took a moment for her to look up, and when she did, Bronn and Margaery were eyeing at each other like wary cats.

“Bronn, Margarey, Margarey, Bronn,” Sandor said, tightening one arm around Sansa and using the other to gesture between them.

“Whatcha drinking, stretch?” Bronn asked, eyeing Margaery’s legs. He didn’t sound any different that usual, but his eye-crinkles had all straightened out as he watched her.

Margaery sniffed a little, took one small step, and crossed her arms like she would rather be anywhere else. “Whatever you’re paying for, I suppose,” she offered, sounding begrudging.

Sansa looked at Sandor: this didn’t seem promising. He smirked and winked, standing up and inclining his head so she could follow him. “Excuse us,” he told Mar and Bronn, handing Sansa a drink and leading her over to the jukebox. “Give them a second,” he said under his breath, scrolling through music. She snuggled under his arm and looked too, feeding Sandor’s quarters into the machine and finding all of her 90s favorite. He rolled his eyes at a few, but kept giving her quarters, so it was actually fun. He’d gotten her a Martell mule, and the ginger tickled her throat. She said so, and Sandor seized on her happily with kisses. “Here?” he murmured, drawing her against him despite her giggles. “Here?”

“We should go back and check on them,” she sighed, imagining the stilted first-date conversation going on behind them.

“Don’t be so sure.” Sandor loosened his arms from around her and nodded back to the bar. She looked over her shoulder and paused in shock.

Bronn and Margaery were making out intensely. Sansa watched Bronn’s hands run down Margaery’s back and take her butt firmly in both hands, Margarey practically defying gravity to climb up onto him. 

“Oh my gods,” she murmured, horrorstruck.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sandor suggested.

“I should check in with Mar first,” she said weakly, not truly wanting to interrupt. Bronn picked the girl in question up and lifted her onto the bar. The bartender hustled over, towel in hand, as Margaery’s legs went around Bronn. “Actually, nevermind.”

They went back to Sansa’s apartment, secure in the knowledge that they’d be the only ones there, everyone else being out on dates. “You hungry?” she asked once they got inside, looking at the kitchen. “Want another beer, maybe?”

He shrugged. “Let’s hang out in your room or something.”

“ _ Hang out _ ,” she teased, but he laughed.

“After seeing those horndogs? I really do just want to hang out,” he said, laughing.

They curled up on her bed and enjoyed the silence for a while, chatting here and there about nothing much. It was nice, having Sandor in her space. He dwarfed her twin bed and made her realize how girly her room was. His house was all blues and greys and dark wood, while her bedroom was frills and white and the occasional coral. She had necklaces hanging up above her desk, school books neatly piled next to romance novels, and a massive collection of sweaters that hid her body to varying degrees. He didn’t seem uncomfortable, though. If anything he was only curious, asking about one book or another and nodding through her summaries and reviews. She realized the library book he’d checked out for her was still on the shelf, and pointed it out, but he admitted he’d reported it lost and paid for it so she could keep it. She laughed and kissed him, letting the kiss draw on into a long, sweet one.

Eventually he pointed to an oversized book on the bottom of her bookshelf. “What’s that one?”

“This one?” She reached for it, drawing it into her lap as she sat up on the bed. He was still stretched out, head propped up on one arm that was flexing distractingly. She stroked the cover, feeling suddenly nervous. He hadn’t known he was asking after her photo album, she knew that, but it felt like time to show him. He’d been so supportive so far, and she knew he wouldn’t say anything to upset her. And she  _ wanted _ to show him. She wanted to speak the names of her entire family and show him how they’d been alive, how they’d been a part of her.

So she flipped open the book.

It was a scrapbook that she’d made after the accident, in the pre-move downsizing of leaving Winterfell. They’d had to sort through family photos to create the funeral materials and obituaries, so she’d simply taken the best and put them into an album, not paying any particular attention to making it beautiful so much as preserving the images in one place.

Sandor sat up as soon as he saw what the first page contained. “Sansa, are you sure?”

“Definitely.” She nodded to him, trying not to let her eyes tear up. She could feel the tears somewhere behind her eyes, but she didn’t shed them. Instead she held the page up so he could see better, and he leaned over it, touching his hand to the page as he took them all in. The Starks. Every one of them.

“That’s my mom.” He took a moment to stare at Catelyn, his finger going to the image of her face. Catelyn looked proud and exhausted, her huge family surrounding her in one of their rare group portraits. Her hair was short for Catelyn in the photo, shoulder-length, but clearly beautiful, clearly the same as Sansa’s.

“You look just like her,” he said quietly, and with a start Sansa realized that he really meant it. That she was approaching the age Catelyn had died — not soon, but quicker than she’d ever believed she would. “She’s beautiful.”

Sansa nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ned looked like another man with Catelyn on his arm. The happiness that had leaked from him, only now returning, was in full force. It shone out from his face, his pores, and it was reflected in the family around him. “That’s Robb. He’s the oldest. Was the oldest.”

Sandor nodded, so she told him about Robb, about his degree and his girlfriends and his obsession with cars. She told him about Bran, the birth defect that had taken his ability to walk away, but hadn’t touched his indomitable spirit. She admitted to how annoying he could be sometimes, how pretentious, but also how much she missed their conversations about the classics he was reading after — or at the same time — she read them. She pointed out Jon, explained that he was in the North, and he nodded, having heard about him through Ned. She told him about Rickon, crying a little now, because he’d been so wild and so young and so full of life. Sandor pulled her into his chest and they looked together, his hand tracing after hers, page after page of the life and the family she’d once had.

“And her?” he asked, his thumb brushing over Arya, age eleven. She’d just cut all her hair off in defiance of school picture day, and looked fiercely proud of herself even with lopsided bangs.

“Arya,” she said, and that said it all. She’d told him about them all before, but it was different to see their faces, to show him how many people had once had the same features as her. It was sobering for Sandor, she could tell, but he just let her talk, only asking questions every page or so until they’d gone through the entire album.

“I wish you could have met them,” she said finally, still holding the album, unwilling to put it down.

“I wish I had too,” he assured her, stroking her hair. She nuzzled into his chest, taking comfort from his warmth and his presence. He smelled like beer and soap and Sandor and -  _ home _ , she thought. Not like Winterfell, but just… like Sandor. And yet her senses all told her he was her new safe space, the roots of her happiness, the place she always wanted to come back to.

_ I think I might love him _ , she realized, before he turned the scrapbook back over and asked to go through it again. She opened it one more time, staring at him a little as he flipped through the pages, memorizing her family. She thought she might want him to be a part of that family now. Felt like maybe he already was. She wanted to be his, too, feeling almost guilty for having had such a perfect family for the time she had had them. He’d never had them at all.  _ But he has me _ , she thought, smiling and snuggling back into his chest.

When Bronn and Margaery banged the door open on their way into the apartment, each already half-dressed, they made their escape back to Sandor’s. The whole ride, tucked into his back, flying through the hills, all she could think was  _ I do. I love him. I love him so much.  _ It was more than she’d ever felt before, but easily recognizable. Her heart felt full, her chest felt tight, and she felt almost like she could soar through the canyons without the motorcycle beneath them.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the calm before the storm is over. introducing: the storm.

The gym Sandor had been working to open was set to start business the next morning, and Sandor and Sansa were going to the grand opening event. It was networking for him, but she knew he’d also worked hard, and she was looking forward to celebrating with the people who worked with him. As much as she enjoyed Bronn, she found she wanted to hear about Sandor’s other sides from others: the friend, co-worker, the professional. She wasn’t quite sure of his day-to-day, but she felt he was probably a genius.

_ A hot, scar-covered genius she was falling for.  _

It was a strange feeling, building faster once she noticed it, like it had been waiting to be seen before exploding into enormity. It felt huge and shapeless, heavy and light. It was more than want. It was something else - need, and maybe more. Something she couldn't easily define. 

She watched him now, fussing with his jacket in the mirror before they left his place. She thought she knew what she was feeling, though she’d never felt it before like this. Even though it was only in its earliest rumblings, love had never come so deep and so raw before. Had never swept her over before she noticed before. Hadn’t been… real. Like this. It felt a thousand times longer than it should, that that first step into falling in love. Like the first step on that path had taken her miles and miles.

And maybe this wasn’t the first step, after all. Maybe it had been when he’d teased her, scooped her in his arms, ordered a second cocoa. Maybe when he’d let her pour her heart out to him, she’d left a piece of that heart with him. 

Sandor turned to smile at her, though he’d been scowling at himself only seconds before. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she confirmed. Sandor was wearing a dark blue suit that miraculously fit him perfectly, Sansa in a dress with a complementary silver shimmer. She’d pinned her hair to the side in loose waves. Sandor reached out to touch it and had to drop his hand, laughing. 

“Looks good, little bird.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she answered, pleased.

When they got to the venue, a trendy rooftop bar downtown, one or two heads turned before they even made it to the red ropes of the private party area. She couldn’t be sure if people were looking at her or at Sandor, but either way, she took it as a sign that they looked as good as she felt.

“Clegane!”

Introductions flew by so quickly that Sansa couldn’t keep up. For once, Sandor wasn’t the largest or the strongest person in a group, and she marveled to see him amongst other men of his species. Still, with Sandor’s military posture and soft, dark hair, he stood out. Sansa met wives and business partners, investors and the marketing executives. She beamed when someone referred to Sandor as their secret weapon, and accepted more than one compliment about her dress and hair. She was pleased to make him look good, and though his coworkers knew Sandor’s ways already, she felt her small talk skills helped balance their little two-person team.

Sandor confirmed her good feeling by tugging her away after an hour or so, kissing her in a dark corner of the rooftop. He drew back after a moment, conscious not to muss her lipstick, and she smiled up at him. “Having a good time?”

“For once I am,” he confirmed, stroking the silky-soft fabric of her dress over her hip. “With you on my arm, I’m the luckiest man in the room. And a couple guys over there have done very well for themselves.”

She laughed again and wrapped her arms around his neck. She’d felt so… behind, for so long. Like her life had hit a hard pause and was moving along slowly again, but like she was still behind in so much. Behind in school, in love, in life. But now she felt like an adult, finally, a grown woman with a successful relationship and her whole future ahead of her and adventures still waiting to be taken.

Sandor slipped past the small crowd of his co-workers, and Sansa looked out over the rooftop to the street below while he fetched a new round of drinks. The lights of cars zipped back and forth, people walked by, and everywhere was the sound of conversation and laughter. Twinkle lights spread from a pergola over the bar to the far side of the roof, illuminating everything as if by some whimsical magic.

It was a glitzy hotel, the kind she’d once been familiar with, though they’d held no joy while with Joffrey. She’d be wearing something uncomfortable, usually a skintight dress and too-high heels that made her feel like stooping and tugging all night. She’d usually be numb to the glitz and glamor around her, mind numb as she stood by Joffrey’s side through a thousand boring or downright disgusting conversations. Being here now, happy and appreciative, was a new and incredible experience. It was truly beautiful, with three-hundred-and-sixty degree view, and not a single person who wasn’t dressed to the nines. It was kind of a scene that Joffrey would have liked, actually. 

Which made sense, as she spotted him across the roof.

_ Of fucking course _ , she thought, suddenly furious. It was a new reaction to him, not coming instead of the fear and the dread that still filled her, but rearing up strongly anyway. Elder Brother had told her that Joffrey might escalate, but she was sure this must be a random encounter. Joffrey had always haunted the five-star nightlife, but she’d never thought she’d run into him again.

He hadn’t seen her yet. Maybe she could just leave. That was it, she’d just grab Sandor, head out - or maybe just slip away and text him that she’d gotten sick. She could tell him the truth in the morning. She’d just - 

“Here you are, little bird.” Sandor appeared at her shoulder, two drinks in his hands. The glasses looked tiny and delicate in his huge hands, but they were steady as they were strong. She licked her lips - they’d suddenly gone dry.

Maybe it was the flash of her red hair. Maybe it was Sandor’s broad form cutting through the crowd. Maybe it was just Sansa’s dumb luck, again, that made Joffrey look over.

“Let’s go,” she said quickly, seeing the movement of his head. “Come on, Joffrey’s here, let’s-”

Sandor’s head swung up, eyes going first to her and then to the figure approaching. He looked startled, wild. She squeezed her eyes shut as she realized that it was happening, her worst nightmare, happening now. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her ears.  _ Breathe _ , she reminded herself, picturing Elder Brother’s face, Brienne’s, talking her through her inhales and exhales. But she was too frozen, just wishing she could keep her eyes shut until it was over.

The roaring in her ears subsided enough for her to notice her surroundings again. Sandor’s rage and protectiveness was washing over her in layers, equal parts comforting and nerve-wracking. He was holding himself carefully, this being a work event, but she could see the energy in his shoulders.

Joffrey was saying something.

“-even uglier in person,” he sneered, a gimlet in his hand and a bloodred tie at his neck.

Sandor didn’t say anything in return. His hand landed on Sansa’s back, the firm press of it a dead giveaway that he was trying to control himself. She thought of the hole in her wall, crying on her bedroom floor.

“And Sansa, my god, every time I see you you’re slumming it worse. I always knew you were crazy, of course, but this is really just sad.”

Sandor cleared his throat, shifting his weight. Joffery glanced at him, but he’d never been someone who’d had to fear for himself, being always so surrounded by sycophants, and somehow decided that Sandor was safe. He addressed Sansa again, who was feeling locked in place, staring at Joffrey as a thousand nightmare versions of him competed with the true version in front of her. She was still so mad, but she felt like she might cry anyway, angry hot tears.

“Good thing your family’s dead,” he confided, voice lowered to a near-whisper. He was disgustingly perfect against the soft lights, his suit fine, not a hair out of place. “They can’t see what a monster you’re with now.”

Beside her, Sandor growled. It was low, but it filled Sansa with a dread that crowded out her anger. He could do anything, could hurt Joffrey in front of everyone, could ruin his future job prospects, could blow up the tenuous peace of their relationship.

The words “Sandor, don’t,” tumbled out of her mouth before she could help herself.

“Sandor, don’t,” Joffrey mocked, but Sandor’s head whipped back around to her.

“Don’t what?” he asked, voice too-deep.

Sansa shook her head. It was too much. She shook herself out of immobility, somehow finding the strength to turn around. As quickly as she could walk without running, she traced her steps back to the elevator, slipping past a partygoer through the closing doors.  _ Let it happen, then. Let them fight it out, let everything blow away. _ She was angry at Sandor now, too, sure he was doing something awful upstairs, sure he was going to punch Joffrey into a gaping hole like the one in her wall.

She was already in tears by the time she realized she hadn’t pressed any buttons in the elevator, and she leaned her forehead against the cool interior, wishing for a few more minutes without someone finding her.

“Sansa.” It might have been a moment or a few minutes, but Sandor was there. In the small elevator, he filled the room, but she couldn’t sense his mood anymore. She looked up at him to search his face, and found it angry. But not just angry at Joffrey. Angry… at her? He slapped a button and the elevator lurched down.

“What?” she whispered, confused. He shook his head and paced, two steps by two steps.

“Are you okay?” he asked first, looking her over as though assessing for another panic attack. She nodded, and his breath came out in a loud puff. “Why did you try to stop me up there?” he said next, and she almost laughed through the rolling tears.

“Stop you? I can’t stop you. Whatever you did, I just couldn’t see it, okay?”

“What I did? I didn’t do shit, Sansa.” The elevator dinged, and his hand slammed back into the panel, this time hitting the door close button even as she jumped. “Fuck, sorry, look, you can get out if you want to.” He hit the door open button, standing away so she could brush past him.

It was worse outside of the elevator, more open with more room for their anger. They were still in a small hallway off the hotel lobby, so no one was there yet, but she knew someone would come along sooner rather than later.

Best to have it out quickly, then.

“I’ll take a taxi home,” she told him, only wanting her bed now, wanting to be away from drama and mess and Joffrey and violence forever. Maybe she could sleep for the rest of her life. In the back of her mind, she was still picturing the punch, imagining Joffrey’s face exploding in red as Sandor’s fist found him. She still couldn’t believe he hadn’t done anything. Her mental image was solidly real. It seemed more likely than his not hitting Joffrey, after all. She might not even blame him, but she knew Elder Brother would. And she just couldn’t be with someone violent again. She wouldn’t.

“Sansa, nothing happened, I swear.”

“How can I believe you?” she snapped, reaching for his hands and inspecting the knuckles on his hand. She was able to see that they were undamaged before he yanked his arm away.

“See? You believe me because you trust me, Sansa, because I told you I wouldn’t do anything like that again! You can’t believe that? After everything we’ve been doing.” He sounded bitter, not surprised. Her mouth tasted awful suddenly, dry and foul.

“I- I trust you, I just-”

“Clearly you don’t.” And even now the anger and violence was spilling off of him like steam in the cold. Despite his words, everything about him screamed danger. 

“Well, I want to! It’s hard!” Her voice broke a little when she saw someone peek into the hallway they stood in. She shook her head, tried to control her voice before their privacy slipped away. “I want to, but I just… I just keep expecting something bad to happen, okay? Don’t act like I don’t have any reason for that. With my life, some big disaster is always around the corner. You can’t be immune to that. Joffrey will never go away and I’ll always be afraid of a fight and I’ll always just be a loser who’s fucking broken, okay?”

She’d never sworn so much, both in and out of her head, but she couldn’t help it now. All her poisonous thoughts were spilling out of her, until she was left gulping empty air. Sandor’s silver gaze had hardened, the scars pulling taught on his face as he worked his jaw. He looked like he had that first day, when he’d thought she was afraid of him, and it hurt her to see it. Something had slid shut in his eyes, and when he shook his head she couldn’t bite back a sob.

“I see,” he said, flatly. She thought of the years he’d gone without love and saw in him what she’d seen in herself: a closing off, a protective layer. After their months of talks and touches and intimacy, it had only taken moments for his to come back, already being barricaded. “Why even bother then?”

“Because I fucking love you!” Sansa nearly screamed it, though her voice was a ragged and broken echo of its normal volume. Sandor’s face changed again, this time in shock. He didn’t seem pleased, or more angry, just blank. Behind him, the elevator dinged. A couple stumbled past them, drunkenly careening off of each other as they passed.

It was the interruption Sansa needed. After so much doubt and fear and panic and confrontation, she simply hit her limit. Swallowing bile at Sandor’s blank, blank expression, she turned, and stumbled, and ran.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which this becomes an action movie...

Sansa couldn't stop crying, but her tears had changed. In the tangled trauma of seeing Joffrey, she'd entirely overreacted, lashing out at the man on her side instead of the one who had made her miserable.

_ I'm just a stupid drama queen,  _ she thought furiously, _ Just like Arya always said. _

And worst of all, she'd doubted Sandor.  _ Sandor _ . And she'd thrown that doubt in his face. She'd treated him like the violent monster that he'd worked so hard not to be, and she hated herself for it the moment she turned away.

She'd only made it to the corner of the block before her tears had blinded her, and she stopped to get her bearings. She'd just have to go back and apologize. Beg, if necessary. It was like the first time she'd seen him and flinched all over again, but this time she'd truly wronged him. And the way she'd thrown her love at him like a weapon made her burn with shame.

_ I don't deserve him _ , she thought, realizing he was probably just grabbing their coats before chasing her down. She'd just have to face what she'd done, face whatever he would say to her, face life without him now. 

That thought stabbed her through the heart again. How had she screwed everything up so fast? It felt like she was sliding into a fresh panic attack, some invisible force squeezing slowly all around her.

But it wasn’t an invisible force. It was a hand, vice-like on the back of her neck.

“That was hilarious,” Joffrey said, conversationally. “And now you’re outside on the curb like a piece of trash? Honestly, it’s just perfect.”

_ Shut up,  _ she tried to say, but she choked, too taken aback by his appearance. “W-w-”

“W-w-whaaaaat?” he mocked, pinching tighter on her neck and pulling her toward him until he could yank her up the sidewalk. He was always at his worst while drinking, and some nights his drunkenness was covered by other drugs, everything piling up into one awful cocktail of unpredictability. “Honestly, were you always this stupid?” Up close, he definitely reeked of alcohol, and Sansa did her best to dig her heels into the cement ground, yank her head back away from him. His fingers just closed in her hair, and she could hear herself make a sound of pain involuntarily, her spike of resistance starting to disappear. The cold, dark mindset she’d always gone to with Joffrey was sliding up around her, freezing her in place. Elder Brother had called it dissociation. She didn’t have any words for it: she didn’t have any words.

In her beautiful high heels, with her tight, gorgeous dress, Sansa had to stumble forward or fall. She couldn’t see through the hair now tangled around her face, fisted in Joffrey’s hand. Everything she saw was half-hidden by a screen of auburn hair, half-blurred from the tears in her eyes. Joffrey shoved her forward suddenly, and she stumbled, striking her hip on something before she realized he’d pushed her into his car. Immediately she raked her hair out of her eyes, scrambling upward to escape, but Joffrey had already locked her in and was jumping into the driver’s seat.

_ Joffrey, no, you’re drunk, stop, let me out, please let me out,  _ she screamed in her mind, but all she could do was stare at him gutlessly, panic setting in worse than ever before. Every awful moment that he’d made her feel voiceless, made her be voiceless, was sealing her lips and her throat and her eyes with blind fear. He grinned at her, his face lean and handsome and horrible, and started the car.

Sansa tried to reach for the keys as soon as the engine roared to life. She knew nothing good could come of leaving with Joffrey. Was this what Elder Brother meant by escalation? She thought he’d wildly underestimated things. Because when she reached for the key, Joffrey’s arm smacked out, knocking her roughly back into the seat. He half-turned to slap her hard, a stinging strike that caused her nose to roar with pain and her eyes to water even beyond their tears. She choked on a cry, cringing back toward the door on her side of the car.

_ He’s going to hurt me _ , she thought, grim.  _ He’s going to keep me or kill me and Sandor will think I just left town.  _ She was crying again, silent tears streaming over her burning nose and into her torn and tangled hair.

“Try anything like that again and I’ll crash this fucking car,” he said, eyes locked on her with a hatred that terrified her. She’d thought he’d loved her once, but he’d only wanted a plaything, and now she realized how he despised her for getting away. It was obvious as he stared at her now, no humor in his cold, beautiful eyes. “And you can join your stupid fucking family, for once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short! ONLY THREE LEFT!


	32. Chapter 32

Sansa was still frozen in silence, her thoughts racing too fast to corral. This was a nightmare, right? It was a nightmare she couldn’t even have imagined, and it didn’t feel far off from the dark horrors that haunted her sleeping mind. And yet this felt too real, too immediate. Too Joffrey. She never could have imagined the horrible words he’d said, the threats he’d given this time.

This time he’d gone too far.

Joffrey had put his foot down hard on the gas, and as they spun away from the hotel and its beautiful lights, Sansa panicked afresh. There went Sandor, her only hope for escape, for revenge. Her own words came back to her hard.  _ Sandor, don’t. _ She’d thought he would harm Joffrey, and he’d proved her wrong. Now he wasn’t around to even have a shot at really fighting for her, even if he’d wanted to. He was probably looking for her, though. She could only hope he wouldn’t think she’d abandoned him. If nobody let the authorities know she was gone, no one would be able to…

To what? Figure out Joffrey was gone from the event as well? Unlikely. Even if they were linked together, or someone had seen her shoved into his car, there was no guarantee of rescue. Sandor would give up on her and go home, her roommates wouldn’t notice her missing for days, and Joffrey would do something this time that no amount of money could get him out of.

She had to find her voice. She was still sitting silently as her thoughts raced, body curled up defensively, too terrified to harm him and cause the accident he’d threatened. Joffrey was still picking up speed through the quiet streets, headed toward the motorway. He jerked the car hard to avoid a curb when he turned, laughing drunkenly as Sansa’s fear grew. He looked manic, wild: he seemed more pleased with himself than she’d ever seen before. His hand went to her thigh, causing the car to tilt again, and Sansa shrieked as the car righted itself and Joffrey dug his fingers up her skirt, hurting and hunting.

“Stop it!” There was her voice, finally. She dug her nails into his hand, yanking it away. “Joffrey Baratheon, pull this car over and let me out right now.” Her voice was watery and wavering, but she got it out. She felt strong, even if she didn’t sound that way. Something in her changed when Joffrey tried to touch her, some reaction of wrongness that went bone-deep. She only wanted Sandor to touch her. And she had to do whatever it took to make that possible again. Dealing with Joffrey was nowhere near as important as making things right with Sandor, and she had to get out of this car,  _ right now _ . 

“Oooh, full name. What are you, my mom?” Joffrey reached for her once more, laughing when she smacked him back again. “You’ve gotten feisty, huh? Is that why you want to pull over so bad, you slut? Can’t wait to get back to fucking someone with a face?” 

_ Gods _ . Joffrey was ramping up the motorway now, foot down hard on the gas. He was only driving with one hand, though, the other one having abandoned her to touch himself through his pants. He was biting his lip, barely focused on the road, too turned on by her fear. The lights from other cars were moving faster and faster behind him: they wouldn’t make it very far before something horrible happened at a high speed.

Sansa’s rage was filling her up now, the unfairness, the fucking disrespect that he had for her family — and her love — and especially for her. She’d been weak once, when Joffrey had known her. When his poisonous words were the closest thing she had to love. Now she knew how far away it had been. And now she was too strong to take it.

If it was a choice between rape and wreck, Sansa knew what she chose. It seemed clear-cut in that instant: she was forged by a crash, and that one hadn’t been up to her. This time… everything seemed to slow to a crawl, the city rushing by and the concrete meridian beside them and her beautiful dress pushed up over her thighs and Joffrey’s grip slipping on the wheel as he took his other hand off his dick and reached for her again, mouth opening on another insult already and  _ protect me _ , she thought fervently, to Arya and Rickon and Bran and Robb and her beautiful mother...

And she grabbed the wheel.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt too guilty not to put this one up right away!

Clicks.  _ Beeps _ . Rumbling. Clicks.  _ Beeps _ . Voices.

A kiss on her forehead, then a scent that she’d know anywhere. “Dad?”

Her voice sounded hoarse. Had she been screaming? She didn’t think so. The last thing she remembered was…

_ Oh god. _

Sansa tried to sit up, too fast. Ned put his hand on his shoulder, gently keeping her from coming all the way upright. “You’re okay, kitten, just lay back.”

“I’m okay?” She took stock. She was in a hospital bed, and she felt exhausted, drained, depressed. There was so much she needed answered: how bad had the wreck been, how had she survived, how had she gotten to the hospital, how had Ned found her, where was Sandor, was Joffrey still out there…

The last one scared her the most. 

“Dad, what happened?” she asked, afraid he would tell her something awful. Her scalp still hurt, but she was mostly just bone-tired. Ned shook his head, looking sad.

“I’m not sure, Sansa. The collision with the divider must have knocked you out, because you were out of it when they found you. Joffrey was arrested a few blocks away from where guys you were, he tried to run for it. They think he was so far gone he thought he could avoid being linked to both you and the car. They thought you had alcohol poisoning, and brought you in, but the nurse and doctor think you just fainted. Apparently you woke up for long enough last night to give them your name and get checked out before you slept naturally, and they called me.”

“I don’t remember that,” she mumbled, running her hands over her face before it began to ache where she’d been struck.

“The police would love to know what you do remember, kitten, when they come back. I’ll give them a call soon. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

He kissed her forehead, and she clutched his wrist. Relief was starting to wind through her, but she couldn’t relax yet. It hurt to see Ned carry his concern for her on his face, and she was suddenly glad to be okay, even just for his sake. He had her and Jon left. She had to stay safe.

“is he gone?” she asked finally, still clutching him. Ned sighed and let her, staring off a little as he did so.

“Joffrey was arrested for DUI and Cersei already has him out. The officers think they could charge him with kidnapping, but they need to talk to you first.”

“He’s already out?” Sandor’s words were echoing in her head.  _ There’s naught in all the world as unfair as life and death. _

“Not for long, I promise,” Ned swore, and he looked like her old strong dad again. She couldn’t help but smile a little, despite the fear.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded. “Well, let me know when you want to talk to Officer Davos. And in the meantime, I should probably call Sandor.”

Her head perked up despite herself, and Ned smiled a little. “He was here all night, kitten. I sent him home to sleep because he didn’t get any here.”

“I hope he’s sleeping then,” she said, heart full despite the disappointment of not seeing him  _ nownownow _ . Maybe he was just hanging around out of obligation to see that she was okay, especially after their disastrous last fight, but. She could hope.

Ned snorted. “Sleeping? I hope he’s out hunting that little shit down.”

“He’s not,” she said, quiet but certain, so certain. “He’s not that kind of guy.”

_ Anymore _ , she amended mentally, but her dad was a veteran and understood more than she said. He squeezed her shoulder and told her he’d let her rest, that he was only leaving her for a moment to let a nurse know she was up and make a few phone calls. 

“Okay,” she agreed, but called out to him before he left the room. “Dad?”

“Yeah, hon?” She looked him over: he seemed tired, older than she remembered. But he was her dad again, his spirit alive again inside of him. She was so glad she hadn’t put it back out by being hurt. But she had to tell him…

“It was me,” she said, voice much quieter now. She felt exhausted again suddenly, everything suddenly weighing down on her, hard to accept as the new reality she’d woken up in. “I crashed the car, Daddy.”

Ned crossed back to her immediately, but only stood for a moment, hands rubbing his arms. He nodded once, twice. She realized he was fighting tears, and her own eyes welled up as she reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, heartsick and heavy. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know what else to do, I just… I had to do something.”

Ned kissed her forehead. Up close he smelled like cigars and leather and Ros’ cooking. He cupped the back of her head in his palm, resting their foreheads together for an instant. “I know, Sansa. I’m proud of you.”

Once she was alone, she sat quietly, just letting her thoughts drift and come together. Ned said he’d kept her roommates away while she slept, but it was Sandor she was really hoping to see. She believed him now, and their fight made her feel foolish. But more important than that, she was alive, and she was okay, and she almost hadn’t been. She was glad that therapy would give her the power to fight back, not to lose her voice and faint away — to somehow survive the worst. It was a new feeling, still forming, but it was strange to feel empowered by a car accident, rather than robbed of everything. And having Joffrey still out in the world was terrifying, it was true, but there was also the thought of Sandor out there, and somehow the two balanced out.

She tried to picture Sandor on the chair at the side of the hospital bed, barely able to imagine his butt wedged into the seat. And yet Ned said he’d been there all night. Had he kissed her? Held her hand? Been grossed out by her sleeping sweat and ghosted on her forever? She sighed, releasing every piece of fear and adrenaline still lurking in her exhausted body for once and for all. “Gods.”

“I hope you’re not praying to them about me,” Sandor teased, stepping in from around the doorway. She smiled weakly, but his joke fell flat as they both stared at each other. Sandor was holding a backpack and a fast food bag, eyeing her with caution from outside the doorframe. “I uh, got you clothes you left at my house, and some food… I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“Thank you.” She bit her lip as he came closer, but he only came near enough to drop the backpack and slide the fast food bag across her end table toward her. 

“Thank you,” she said again, feeling shy, but realizing that she was actually starving once the smell of grease and salt reached her.

“You’re welcome,” he said, dropping into the seat beside her — he had to do it an angle, she noticed — and waiting for her to eat. It felt strange, digging into a burger and fries as he waited to have the most serious talk of their relationship, but he didn’t show any sign of discomfort. He just waited, staring without emotion while she polished off every bite and licked her fingers clean, propriety abandoned.

“How did my dad have your number?” she asked finally. Sandor reached for her trash, balled it up, and handed her a drink. It was cherry Sprite, her favorite.

He shrugged. “We’ve been talking a little. Business stuff.”

“Business stuff?” She was curious, but knew that now wasn’t the time. “I mean… I’m glad he called you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Once Sandor tossed out the paper bag, he came back to her bedside, standing just out of reach. “I don’t think I would have known what happened to you otherwise.” He grimaced. “Unless I saw it on the news.”

Sansa shivered. She’d been close to another dime-a-dozen headline. Another fatality in a DUI wreck, or another girl killed by her ex. It happened all the time. And somehow she was okay. She tried to control her breathing, remembering the way that Brienne had taught her. Brienne always said to close your eyes and imagine something that calmed you, but Sansa kept her eyes on Sandor. He was what she needed now.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, realizing she should have already said it a thousand times. “I truly am. I was so stupid to you.”

“I think... it’s okay,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin. “I mean, you were right, that kid is a monster. I heard the cops talking, too, they’ve never gotten anything to stick to him before but they sure as hell know who he is. I understand what it’s like to live under someone like that. How it warps the way you relate to people, what you expect from them.” He fixed her with a look, and she could see the little boy he had been underneath the strong, beautiful man. His eyes were red and raw, his beard extra rumpled, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him, amazed at what she was hearing. The grace he could give. “I understand why you thought I would want to hit a kid like that. Now I wish I had.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she whispered. “I know you would never be violent like that. I know that now. I should have trusted it then.”

Sandor reached for her hand, and he took it. Normally he’d fold her hand into his, making it disappear between his broad palms and long fingers. This time he let her clutch his larger hand, curling his fingertips up into her palm. They stayed connected like that for a moment, drinking each other in. As rough as he looked, he’d never been more handsome to her. And she was sure she looked a fright: her hair was certainly ratty, her beautiful dress had been exchanged for a hospital gown, and she’d cried and cried and choked on metallic air since she’d last seen Sandor. It felt like so much longer than one night ago. So much had gone wrong, and so much more could have gone wrong.

“Sansa.” Sandor cleared his throat. Outside her window it was snowing in the parking lot, and her hands were cold. He rubbed them between his, but was otherwise still.

She was exhausted again suddenly, like she’d been holding on until he’d gotten there, and now she could finally relax. Feel as safe as she could. She snuggled back against the pillows, still holding his hands. “Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

He looked a little embarrassed, but sincere. She couldn’t stop the smile that broke over her face like a sunset, sitting back up again to reach for him. She’d been content not to mention it again, to let her poorly-timed confession fade away, but now… he loved her back?

“Truly?” She tried to scramble up again, but he sat down on the bed instead, pulling her carefully into his lap. The cheap hospital gown crinkled and folded between them, but he ignored it, ignored her certainly-awful breath, and bent to kiss her. In his arms, warmed by his body and comforted by his presence, Sansa felt like melting away. It was like being in a bath, buoyed up by the whisper-soft touch of his lips. She wasn’t crying for once, but smiling against his mouth, unable to stop.

“Truly, little bird,” he murmured, still just a breath away. She reached up and touched his face, staring into his beautiful gray eyes as her fingers traced the grooves and pits of his scars. “I do.”

“You’ll keep me safe now?” she asked, unable to help the words from slipping out.

He shook his head, and her stomach sank a little, happy as she was. But then: “You don’t need me for that,” he said, sounding certain. She tried to pull her hand from his face, but he put his hand over hers, clasping it against him. “You can save yourself, Sansa. You already have.”   
  



	34. Chapter 34

Sansa’s finals didn’t seem important anymore, but after a few days, she went back to studying. It made her feel normal again: a reality break between her victim’s statement, emergency therapy sessions, her roommates’ tiptoeing around her. She could tell that both Sandor and Ned wanted to bring her home with them, but she didn’t want Joffrey to upset her life any more than he had. Instead she holed up in her room, reading and revising as much as she could. She even went back to work, piling textbooks next to her as she took tolls and made change.

It was a busy time: always someone to talk to, something to sign. Joffrey was still out on bail, so she borrowed Sandor’s car and drove everywhere, feeling strangely powerful behind the wheel of his truck now. She’d seen security footage from a nearby business of the final crash she’d caused: it had caused Ned to blanch, Sandor to squeeze her shoulder, and her to… accept what had happened as reality. It still felt like an adrenaline-tinged fever dream sometimes, but seeing a car come into the screen already tumbling had brought it home for her.

She had her last final on a Thursday after work, and by the time she was done, she was totally exhausted. She’d turned in three essays in two days, taken another two tests, and given a presentation that she barely remembered. She was wearing yoga pants and a fuzzy sweater, hair in a day-old ponytail, makeup utterly abandoned at this point, and couldn’t wait to take a long bath. Thinking of the bath she’d shared with Sandor, she called him on the way out of class.

“Hey I love you,” he answered, using his newest greeting. It made her smile every time — he said he’d wanted to say it as often as possible now, and had made good on that promise.

“Hey I love you,” she said back, blushing a little as one of her classmates slipped around her in the hall. She waved goodbye and pressed the phone to her ear, shifting her bookbag on the way to the lot. “I’m done. Do you need the truck?”

“Nah, but you should come over if you want to,” he said, voice warm. “Ros gave me a recipe for gnocchi, have you ever made pasta before?”

“Nope, that sounds hard.” She laughed a little and tossed her things into the cab of the truck. “I’m gross though. Later?”

“Up to you.” She could practically hear him shrugging. “I don’t mind a dirty Sansa.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” she said, laughing again. He joined in, his rough-and-rumble laughter a purr in her ear. “Alright, I’ll come over. If you can find something that I can wear after I shower.”

“I know of a blanket that would look really good on you.” She snorted.

“Okay, perv, see you soon.”

“I love you,” he reminded her, though the trip to his house wasn’t far.

“I love you too,” she said anyway, nowhere near sick of saying it.

 

“How do you think you did?” Sandor asked, arm stretched above her to hold the door open as she dragged her bookbag out of the truck with her. He was still dressed in his gym clothes, basketball shorts and a sleeveless tee that granted her a great view of his arms.

“Good, I hope.” She kissed him on her tiptoes, and found herself being dragged up into those arms. “Ooh, thanks for the ride.”

He laughed, carrying her to the house in long strides. “It’s been a while, okay? I’m not putting you down.”

With her hospital release, the near-constant presence of Ned, and the worried hovering of Missandei and Dany and Margaery, they hadn’t had a night together since before the accident. They’d slept together once, literally, Sandor curled tight around her like a giant in her fluffy white twin bed. That had been about comfort, though, and Sansa was ready to go back to something approaching normalcy. With her holiday break beginning, she had a month to fill, and the last thing she wanted was to spend all of it dwelling on the disaster. With Ned’s help, she’d be taking a full load of classes soon, giving up her tollbooth job in order to finish her degree in one full semester. It was an intimidating idea, but she felt ready. The only thing left to do in the meantime was… well, Sandor.

“Are you hungry?” he asked next, peering into the kitchen over her shoulder. “We can—”

“No,” she said, turning his cheek so he was looking back at her. “Let’s not.”

Watching his easy smile become a pointed smirk did something to her insides, something liquid and thrilling.

She didn’t care about being brazen anymore. She wanted to feel close to him: to draw nearer again, back into the warmth and peace that his arms always promised.

“I guess it’s bedtime then,” he said, putting those arms around her now and shuffling her forward, guiding her to the bedroom. She tilted her head back for a slow kiss, drawing away only when he began dropping his mouth to her neck and shoulder.

She may want this badly, but she was still holding out for a bed.

They finally made it and Sansa sunk into the mattress with relief, holding her arms up so Sandor would drop himself into place above her. He held himself over her easily, muscles taut but face relaxed. Slowly, he nestled his weight against her, their bodies finding their familiar fit.

She ran her fingers through his hair, catching it in the ponytail holder he wore that day and tugging the dark, shimmering strands loose. It fell around his face, not long enough to obstruct it, but enough to show a stark comparison between their shining strands and the rough pits and bristling stubble of his face. He made a silly face at her, and she laughed, knowing she’d been caught staring. But she wasn’t embarrassed, didn’t blush for once. He was hers to stare at, and she could look forever.

“What?” he asked softly, staring back for a moment. She caught her lip in her teeth grinning: she couldn’t help it. Happiness bubbled like champagne in her throat.

“Nothing, I just like looking at you.”

“Me too.” he hummed, drawing back long enough to tug at her sweater. “Off please.”

“Off it is.” She shifted up a little, helping by offering one arm at a time. He went for her pants next, but she shook her head and pointed at his shirt. “Nope, you next.”

“So bossy,” he teased, grinning as he moved to oblige her. 

They stripped down in turns, taking their time about it. It was thrilling to touch every exposed layer, to skim her fingers through his chest hair, wriggle her hips up to help him tug her pants down. They caught on her ankles, and he eased them off carefully, brushing a quick kiss on the inside of her calf. She’d never felt more at peace. It was like their bath again, the way she felt so relaxed and enveloped and ready to be touched. 

“I know you have the month off and all,” he said, finally setting all of their clothes aside, “but I’d love to pick up the pace a bit.”

She nearly snorted. “By all means.”

He laughed, and then she felt him against her, and knew he hadn’t been exaggerating. He gripped himself, pushing the head of his cock over and over her again, rubbing her clit in slow, insistent circles.

Sansa pushed back, sighing a little as her eyes slid closed. 

She wanted this to be forever.. Sparks flew up behind her eyelids, and she gasped a little as he found his way home inside her, each insistent inch driving deeper, each moment better than any she'd known before. It was overwhelming the way he danced her through sensation, and it was all she could to to keep up. And there was so much more of him. His shoulder filled her line of sight - or maybe it was just that she couldn't take her eyes off of him. His most secret, most confident smile. The smell just under his throat, where the scent of cedar and sweat mingled into something utterly Sandor.

“I love you” slipped from her lips and into his when we went to kiss her, nearly swallowed between breaths.

“I love you,” he answered, surrounding her in peace and safety and pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left! I'm opening up an AMA (ask me anything) here and on my Tumblr (sayesayes). Do you have any questions about this fic or the process of writing it? Comments, thoughts, now that the story is wrapping up? I'll answer anything, no matter how weird! Thanks again for reading, I love you all and your comments are the best part of my day!


	35. Chapter 35

Sansa buzzed with excitement as Sandor followed her up Ned's driveway, his arms loaded up with grocery bags and covered dishes. She'd gone a little overboard with cooking, but she'd been put in charge of sides and hadn't wanted to skimp on anything. Ned had arranged the potluck by calling it a "family dinner," which had always meant something specific in Stark days past: an announcement. She'd been concerned for a moment, but both Sandor and Elder Brother had convinced her that Ned wouldn't spring anything negative on her over a meal, not after the months and years they'd had. She had her suspicions, though, and she and Sandor had been swapping bets. She was guessing there was going to be an engagement announcement from her dad and Ros, while Sandor insisted that Ned probably had a business announcement. Either way, they'd feast.

She knocked with an elbow, loaded up herself with her purse, some wine, and books she'd read for class to pass over to Ros. She nearly dropped all of it when Jon opened the door.

"Jon!" Her brother was beaming: she could feel his grin against her cheek when he hugged her into him. She was half-buried in his shoulder when he reached over her to shake Sandor’s hand. She was shifting back to introduce them properly when something cold touched her ankle.

Sansa yelped a bit and jumped free. The thing that had touched her jumped back a little too. They stared at each other, equally surprised, and then Sansa dropped to her knees in the doorway on front of the puppy. 

"Oh my gods!" she squealed, letting everything spill out of her arms. Hearing her voice, the puppy wagged and wriggled up to her. She wrapped her arms around its fuzzy little body, delighting in its soft fur. "Is this the announcement? Jon's here and dad got a dog? Or... is this a wolf?"

Jon and Sandor laughed together in a way that had her peering up over the puppy in suspicion. "It's a hybrid," Jon confirmed. "The albino wolf I was tracking had some pups on one of the researcher's dogs. It gave birth in the wild and we were only able to find this one. She's too gentle to make it as a full-blown wolf, so we smuggled her down here. I was hoping you'd take her on for me."

"Seriously?" Sansa stared into the pup's eyes, smiling at the sweetness she saw. "Jon, thank you, she's such a little lady!"

"Thank Sandor," he said, surprising her. "We had a chat while you were in the hospital — I'm so sorry I wasn't here, by the way, this was the earliest I could come — and he thought you might be just what each other need."

"Sandor!" She looked up at him now. "You know I have roommates, though-"

"The wee girl can live with me when she's not with you," he offered immediately. "Already got her some kibble. And, you know, maybe someday after school you could come join us."

Sansa was too delighted to speak and they hadn't even made it into the apartment yet. The little Lady licked her cheek again, and she was so absorbed in puppy love that she almost didn't listen as Sandor and Jon started talking. 

"So 'we' smuggled it, eh?" Sandor was asking. Jon did the closest thing to blushing he did, hunching his shoulders up a little to sink his chin down. 

"Yup," he admitted, but before he could continue, a redhead popped up over his shoulder.

"What's up?" asked the girl, who was kinky-haired, thin-lipped, seriously freckled, and wildly beautiful. "She get the pup? Oh hi, Sansa! Sansa's big boyfriend! Ygritte." She stuck out a hand that was as freckled as her pointed nose, and Sansa shook it from the floor before standing.

"Hi Ygritte," she answered, grinning at Jon while Sandor took his turn greeting her. "It's great to meet you."

"What is everyone doing in the entryway?" another voice asked, this one Ros. She appeared behind Ygritte, wiping her hands with a dishcloth. "Come inside!"

They did. Ned was setting the table, but looked up to smile at everyone trooping in. "Hey Sansa, Sandor. Come on in." 

Their meal was long and rambling. It turned out that Ygritte had a filthier mouth than Sandor, but somehow she seemed more adorable with every expletive. Ned presided over everyone, smiling in a way that she hadn’t seen in years. It was a familial, happy chaos, with Ros gossipping to Ygritte, Jon and Sandor comparing stories of the strange meals they’d eaten in Antarctica and Afghanistan, and Sansa slipping pieces of steak under the table to her waiting puppy.

“So what’s this announcement?” Jon asked finally, pushing back from the table. He rested his hands on his slim stomach, unconsciously mirroring Ned’s similar pose. Sansa smiled into her napkin.

“Yes, I do have some news.” Ned turned toward Sansa, surprising her a little when he addressed her directly. “Kitten, I know you asked me to act as your go-between with Officer Davos, and I thought maybe you’d like an update while we’re all together to celebrate.” Sandor’s hand landed between Sansa’s shoulders, rubbing lightly, the presence of his strength invisibly comforting. Ned continued. “Joffrey was caught in Dorne when his mom tried to send him money. Your restraining order has been approved, but it’s probably not necessary — he’s going to jail again for evading his warrant, and he’ll be held without bail until his court date. I was told he resisted arrest as well, so he’s got that charge added. With all of the charges on the table, especially if we can make kidnapping and assault stick, I’m told that he’s guaranteed to go away for a while.”

“Thank the gods,” Ros chimed in, smiling around the table. Ygritte cheered, and Sandor squeezed her shoulder, but Sansa barely moved. She was shocked, happily so, the thoughts and worries that had been lurking in the back of her mind finally dropping away, leaving her feeling free and clear and fully happy for the first time in months. Finally, she didn’t have to worry about Joffrey being somewhere out there existing. She could just… relax. Enjoy her break, her family, her Sandor.

After that, it was a party. Ygritte made them a whiskey drink she claimed was a family secret, despite Jon’s objections, and Ros proceeded to outdrink even Sandor. Ned abstained, quietly saying he wouldn’t touch anything harder than wine anymore, but he did dance with Sansa once she’d had her taste. The puppy jumped up on everyone, and Sansa danced with her, too.

“I think her name is Lady,” she said, scooping the pup up again into her arms. She licked Sansa’s face and wriggled like a trout. 

“She’s going to get big, don’t let her get used to getting picked up,” Ned warned, but Sansa just cuddled her closer.

It was a few hours before she was alone with Sandor again. He’d smoked a cigar with her dad while she, Ygritte, and Ros had overwhelmed Jon with their dance moves, and she’d drifted outside to get some air once Ned came back in to be swept up with him.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her, taking a moment to look in and see her family dancing around like lunatics. “How’s it going?”

“It’s great.” He patted his lap and she sat down, leaning away a little to take in his face. She was closer to the pitted, scarred side, and she ran her fingers down her cheek. He was so handsome. The scars didn’t impact that — they were like freckles to her now, or a birthmark. It was hard to imagine that the best thing in her life — Sandor — had all come from a day where he had thought her disgusted by them. She was so glad to have apologized, grateful to him for forgiving her, and gratified to have her life include him now. He’d been at her side for car accidents and hospital visits, improved himself at every setback, earned the favor of her friends and family, and now brought home an impossibly adorable puppy. She couldn’t believe her luck. After all the horrible things that had colored the last few years of her life, it was almost overwhelming having the scales tip back up with good things. All good things, all coming from Sandor. She kissed his forehead and leaned against him, inhaling the scent of cedar and smoke.

“What was that for?” he asked quietly, and she shrugged, unsure of how to put it all into words.

“I just love you.”

“Right back at you, little bird.” He kissed her nose, then shifted her a little in his lap. “Actually, I have another surprise.”

Sansa laughed. “I’m not sure I can handle any more surprises!”

“No, this one’s good, I promise.” He smiled at her. “Okay, so you know I’m between jobs. My next one won’t start until January, and I know you’re off for three weeks without much of a plan.”

“I have a plan, it’s called hang out with you and Lady.” And she couldn’t wait to do it.

“You will,” he promised softly, squeezing her. ‘But first, Italy.”

“Italy?” She leapt up, and he stood with her, chuckling as she pulled on his hands. “Sandor!”

“I thought, what would be the best way to spend your vacation? Tucked away in my cabin or surrounded by classical art where you belong?”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” she sighed, feeling bad suddenly. Even with Joffrey gone, the things he’d said to her still danced at the edge if her consciousness, bogging down her happiness even at the most inopportune times. Maybe that would never go away. But at least she could voice it, and move on.

Sandor gave her a moment before tugging her back against his enormous body. “In case you didn’t know, you deserve it without doing anything. We both do. I can’t wait to see you walking through the ruins, my love.”

“I can’t wait to go.”

She nestled into his arms. The apartment’s balcony looked over the rolling hills of Westeros, the bridge where they’d met on the horizon. It was hard to think that they’d never known each other. Despite everything they’d been through together, Sansa felt like she’d always just been missing Sandor by her side to feel like she had her feet on solid ground. Yes, what she’d been through had taken its toll, but with her family and friends around her, Lady at her feet, and Sandor at her side, Sansa finally felt like maybe — just maybe — that toll had been worth paying, because it had brought her here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Thank you so much for being here along the way. The incredible feedback that I get from you guys is such a beautiful reward for just writing a story that was stuck in my head. I truly do love and appreciate all of your eyes and all of your hours. Thank you again for everything.


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